


What Happens At Zero?

by iPumperdiddle



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Abduction, All the cuddles, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - No Gellert Grindelwald, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, Cinnamon Roll Credence Barebone, Coffee Shops, Copious Amounts of Fluff, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feels, First Meetings, Healing, Homophobic Language, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, I took the liberty and created a tracking spell, I'm Bad At Tagging, Ilvermorny, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Interrogation, Love at First Sight, M/M, MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, Making Out, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Mutual Masturbation, No obscurus, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Beta Read, POV Alternating, Patronus Charm (Harry Potter), Protective Original Percival Graves, Recovery, Rescue Missions, Sex Magic, Slow Burn, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Smut, Soft Feels, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tenderness, The Director has entered the chat, This is much longer than I originally planned lol, Time Skips, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Veritaserum, Violence, Virgins for everybody!, Who spilled feels all over this chapter???, mentions of mpreg, soulbond, soulmate timer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 74,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPumperdiddle/pseuds/iPumperdiddle
Summary: All of his life Credence has had a timer counting down on his wrist that nobody else can see and wonders what will happen once it reaches zero.OrA soulmate AU where witches and wizards have a timer on their wrist that counts down to the moment they meet their soulmate.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 84
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!!
> 
> This is my first soulmate fic and I am so excited! SoulAUs have always been my favorite to read, so I figured I try my hand at it :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (Mild child abuse in this chapter. Nothing worse than what’s in FBAWTFT)
> 
> [Find me on Twitter for updates](https://mobile.twitter.com/_ipumperdiddle?lang=en)!

Credence  
* * * * *

“What dis?”

Credence is three when he first asks his Ma about the strange black markings that move on his inner wrist. He waddled into the kitchen where she was standing at the stove cooking, tugging at the hem of her dress before tapping at his skin with chubby fingers.

“What’s what?” She asks distractedly, stirring the contents of a pot. Soup, he thinks.

“Dese,” he replies, tapping again insistently at his wrist where the marking moves at the far right, ticking steadily. He had noticed them before and was confused to see that his Ma didn’t have one, and he wanted to know what it was.

Ma looks down at him frowning, following his gaze to the porcelain skin of his right wrist.

“I don’t see what you’re talking about,” she says impatiently, squinting her eyes as she examines the area he’s pointing to.

Credence huffs, thrusting his arm out, “Wight here!”

“There’s nothing there, Credence. Now get out of the kitchen and go to your room while I finish dinner. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“But Ma...”

“Out. Of. The. Kitchen.”

Pouting, Credence crosses his arms and stomps off to his bedroom. When he gets there he throws himself on the rickety bed with a grunt and stares down at his arm, watching as the third symbol near the center of his wrist suddenly changes. Why can’t Ma see it? It’s right there. He can see it, so it must be real.

Some time later when Ma calls him for dinner he asks once more, frustrated to know what the symbols mean and even more frustrated that she doesn’t seem to see them. He’s sent to bed after she yells at him, telling him once more that there’s nothing there and that he had better cut it out.

Credence sniffles, curled up in the dark with his belly growling as he traces a finger along the inky black mark. What does it mean?

*

When he starts school Credence learns that the symbols are numbers and they’re counting down. When you count down that usually means something is going to happen, like when Ma counts backwards from five before a punishment or when his teacher Ms. Howard counts down to one and puts a finger over her lips for the class to be silent.

He wonders what’s going to happen once it reaches zero.

Even though his Ma can’t see the numbers on his wrist Credence tries to show Ms. Howard. Surely he can’t be the only one that can see them, right? 

Turns out she can’t see them either. Nor any of the other children in his class when he asks them, receiving strange looks when he points to his skin. He sticks his wrist out and taps at the numbers, insisting that they’re there and Ms. Howard gives him a concerned look, shaking her head no. By the time he gets home his teacher has called Ma saying she’s worried about Credence. Ma was furious.

“What did I tell you about making up wild stories!?” She screams, punishing him with a wooden spoon from the kitchen, “It is a sin to lie!”

“I’m NOT LYING!” Credence retorted with a shout, thick tears in his eyes.

“Yes you are! God doesn’t like liars, Credence!” She screamed back before snatching him up by the shirt and shoving him towards his bedroom, “Since you felt the need to lie to your teacher for attention you’re going to bed without any supper and I don’t want to hear a single word out of you for the rest of the night, is that understood? Pray and ask the Lord for forgiveness, then go to sleep.” 

Credence stormed off and slammed the door behind him, sobbing as he crumpled into a heap on the bed.

Why doesn’t anyone believe him?

That day he realized that no one was ever going to see the numbers and that it was best to never mention them again.

*

Ma adopts Chastity when Credence is eight.

She’s two years younger than him with wiry blonde hair and large, blue eyes and he thinks that she looks funny. 

Silly face aside, she has a vivid imagination and enjoys playing with him. They run around the house battling invisible pirates and hunting for treasure in the attic. Sometimes when Ma isn’t paying attention they sneak down to the basement and look for ghosts, because Chastity insists that they’re real and that she’s seen one before. Ghosts live in the basement, supposedly.

“Why do you keep looking at your arm?” She asks him one day as they wiggle into the crawl space during one of their ghost hunts.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, and I’m not going to tell you ‘cause Ma will punish me again.”

That gets her attention. “C’mon Credence, tell me,” she whines, scooting closer to squint at his wrist.

With a huff Credence crosses his arms, pressing his wrist against his chest while leveling her with a serious stare, “There isn’t anything to tell.”

Chastity pouts but doesn’t push the matter, instead maneuvering around Credence to go deeper into the crawl space while she grumbles about him being mean. When she’s out of sight he uncrosses his arms, turning his wrist over to look at the numbers.

10:04:23:11:34:07

Ten years. Four months. Twenty-three days. Eleven hours. Thirty-four minutes. Seven seconds.

Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

What will happen in ten years?

*

When Credence turns eleven a strange woman shows up to the church with a letter. Ma doesn’t invite her in, instead standing quietly in the doorway while the woman speaks out on the stoop. He’s peeking around the corner, struggling to hear the exchange but can’t make out what’s being said. When Ma closes the door he scrambles back to his room and waits. Credence isn’t sure how he knows that the woman was there because of him, but he just does and Ma confirms it when she calmly opens his bedroom door. The letter is no where in sight.

She has a cold, tight expression on her face when she extends her hand, a silent request he knows all too well.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Your belt, Credence.”

Resigned, he undoes the buckle before sliding the strap through the loops, standing to drop it into Ma’s waiting hand.

That day he received the worst beating he’s ever had. She stopped hitting his palms with the belt when he started school, moving to his back in order to hide the evidence. Why doesn’t he tell a teacher? He couldn’t give you an answer to that. He doesn’t know why he stays quiet about it, just that he does.

Credence lies in bed that night on his side, facing the wall with his thin white shirt plastered to his back by the cooling, sticky blood. It hurts every time he moves, so he tries to stay as still as possible. He asked her repeatedly between sobs what he had done to deserve the beating only to be told “You’re a wicked child that needs to be cleansed of this evil.”

He wonders if the letter has anything to do with the numbers on his wrist—the ones Ma now tries to see ever since that visit, still failing to find them. She tells him he’s been marked by the devil. 

Credence never did find out what the letter said or if it was addressed to him or who that woman was that heralded his first severe beating. All he knows is that life got worse as the numbers continued to count down. 

Part of him hopes that once the timer reaches zero he’ll disappear.

*

Modesty comes to live with them when Credence is sixteen. She’s been taken away from her family and she’s scared. They take to each other immediately, Credence feeling this sort of deep protective urge for his new sister. The problem is that she’s a feisty eight year old that questions everything, and while Credence admires that about her, it also means that she catches a lot of trouble with Ma. He tries to step in as often as possible to prevent punishment, taking it for himself to save her from the belt. Most of the time Ma is more than willing to accept him standing in. 

It’s then that he realizes how much she hates him. He stops calling her Ma after that day.

After the punishment, Modesty finds him in his room and helps him with the bandages while telling him that he doesn’t need to do that for her, but she appreciates his kindness none the less.

Credence couldn’t live with himself if he let Mary Lou beat on her. He couldn’t take it.

On one particularly bad evening he’s sitting on the edge of his mattress watching the numbers count down while Modesty cleans his back with warm water and a wash cloth.

“I’ve got one too, you know,” she murmurs from over his shoulder, looking directly at the dark numbers.

He freezes. “What?”

Modesty places the bowl on the floor and sits down beside him with her legs tucked under, lifting her hand to untie the strings of a pink braided bracelet around her right wrist. She removes the bracelet and stretches her arm out for him to see. There on the pale skin of her wrist are a series of black numbers, all unmoving except for the two on the far right. He watches the third change as the seconds reach zero and reset to fifty-nine.

Credence can’t believe it. He swiftly grasps her arm and places it next to his. 

Where his display the numbers 02:07:28:19:54:03 hers show 13:11:03:26:05:55.

“W-what? Do you know what it is?” He croaks, completely shaken by this monumental discovery.

Modesty shakes her head, “Nobody else can see it. Well, except for you obviously. I thought I was the only one,” She admits.

“Me too,” he whispers.

She traces a finger over the moving numbers on his wrist, “What do you think it means?”

He sighs softly, “I’ve been trying to figure that out for thirteen years.”

“Well,” she says, touching her own wrist with open fascination, “Whatever it is I hope it’s good.”

Me too, he thinks to himself.

*

The discovery of Modesty’s mark gives Credence hope and ignites his long buried determination to figure out what they mean. He goes to the public library after school when Mary Lou thinks he’s handing out leaflets, combing through their catalogue of books, but to no avail. His internet search yields similar results with the only hit being from a conspiracy theorist who claims that he was abducted by aliens and was given a tattoo with numbers. Just to clear that possibility, Credence clicks the link and examines the picture to see a splotchy black serial number, nothing at all like what he and Modesty have on their wrists.

He exhausts all possibilities, even going so far as to check the surrounding library archives online to see if they might have any information. Nothing. Absolutely zilch about timers or numbers.

Frustrated, Credence leaves the library and walks home, dumping his pamphlets in a trash bin along the way.

Before Modesty came along he thought he was the only one. He thought himself crazy to see a timer counting down on his wrist, and everyone he told only fed that belief. Oh, you’re seeing things that aren’t there? You should probably go to a specialist.

But he’s not crazy. She has one, too.

What is it? Were they chosen for something? What happens when the timer runs out?

These are questions that keep Credence up at night, feeling lost and confused as he stares at the numbers.

*

00:00:02:23:30:56

“Credence, I need a venti Mocha Frappuccino with two extra pumps for the name Janet, please,” his boss Angela calls over her shoulder from the front counter as she punches the order into the computer.

Credence startles, tearing his eyes away from the numbers to lift his finger off of the churn button on the blender before yelling back, “Got it!”

Angela throws him a smile, “Thanks angel, you’re the best.”

When Credence turned eighteen he took a part time job as a barista at Starbucks behind Mary Lou’s back. For three hours a day he makes and serves coffee to hundreds of customers while Mary Lou thinks he’s handing out leaflets on the street. It’s not a total facade. After pleading with her, Angela allows Credence to leave the pamphlets on the counter for customers to take, even if she thinks the witchcraft propaganda is strange. At the end of each shift he returns home with a few leaflets to make his story more believable. If he came home empty handed Mary Lou would be suspicious.

He’s been working at this location for a few months now, squirreling away his paychecks in an old cookie tin that he hides beneath a loose floorboard in his bedroom in the attic. Credence plans to get out of there as soon as he’s saved enough and hopefully take his sisters with him somehow. He can’t leave them behind. Not with her. If he were to leave, Mary Lou would only target them and he’s not sure he could live with himself knowing that.

So Credence works as many hours as he can safely risk without Mary Lou finding out, walking thirty minutes from Pike Street to the Starbucks near Woolworth. It’s always busy because of its location and he has seen all kinds of people walk through the doors, though their primary clientele are men and women dressed in business attire who are always in a hurry.

Today is no different as he makes one drink after another. Grande Caffè Americano, tall vanilla cream cold brew, venti dark roast with ten shots of espresso. Ten? At this point you might as well just do cocaine.

The three hours pass by in a flash with Credence reluctantly clocking out to leave. It’s Friday and Angela goes to the back to retrieve his paycheck for the week, handing him the envelope with a smile.

“Nice work out there today, Credence.”

“Thanks Angie,” he offers small smile in return, tucking the envelope into his pocket before leaving the break room, walking around the counter and out of the building. 

He goes to the nearby community gym where he keeps a stash of clothes and toiletries, stripping out of his dark button up, slacks and green apron to take a shower before dressing in his usual threadbare shirt and pants. This is his routine every day, scrubbing away the scent of coffee before he returns to the church. He can’t risk bringing the smell of work home with him.

After he’s changed Credence throws on a coat and walks to the bank to cash his check, standing in the line patiently. Once it’s his turn he hands the check over and waits, thanking the teller when they hand him the money before walking outside to sit on a bench, looking around before carefully tucking the cash into his sock.

As he walks home Credence can’t help but glance down at his wrist, watching the black numbers tick. The timer ends in three days and he still doesn’t have an answer. Still doesn’t know why they’re there or what they mean. He should be frightened of the unknown, but he’s curious more than anything. Whatever happens in three days has to better than what’s been happening to him for the last eighteen years of his life.

A manic part of him suggests that maybe that’s when he’ll die and go to hell. Marked by the devil, like Mary Lou said.

The rational part points out that Modesty has the same mark and she’s a good person. That she wouldn’t share his fate.

Either way, he’ll find out in three days.

*

Credence pulls the leaflets from his coat as he crosses the threshold, walking to the kitchen where Chastity stands at the stove preparing dinner. She turns to look at him when he enters, jerking her head towards the living room in a silent gesture before returning to her task. He nods, turning to leave the kitchen and go into the living room where Mary Lou sits with her bible open on her lap, most likely writing her sermon for Sunday. She doesn’t look up from what she’s doing when he enters but she does speak.

“Where were you?”

Dread knots in his stomach. She can’t know about the job or the money. He’s been careful.

“I was handing out the leaflets,” he replies quietly, lifting the hand holding the papers in example.

“If that were true you’d have been at the spot I told you to go to,” she says evenly, turning a page in the bible, “I had to run an errand on that street and I did not see you. So Credence,” Mary Lou slowly turns to look at him with a calm expression, “Where were you?”

“I thought I’d try the museum at Eldridge,” he says softly, thinking up a lie on the spot, “A lot of people pass that way and I managed to hand out nearly every flier.”

She stares at him with cold eyes and a frown on her face, “That isn’t where I told you to go.”

“I know, I’m sorry but—“

Credence clenches his jaw when she holds her hand out expectantly.

“I thought that you’d—“

“Credence,” she flexes her fingers, frown growing deeper as she waits.

He knows if he continues to stall it’s only going to be worse. Dropping his head, Credence removes his belt and places it in her hand. Sure, he could tell her no. He could scream at her and say go to hell but that wouldn’t help his sisters. She’d throw him out on the street and then he couldn’t save them. Credence puts up with it for his sisters.

The only sound in the room is the echoing slap of the belt as he grits his teeth and quietly takes the punishment. She’s moved back to hitting his palms now that he’s out of school and isn’t at risk of getting hit with a child abuse charge. By the time she’s finished and given the belt back his hands are red and welted, with one in particular bleeding from where the edge dug in and broke the skin.

He doesn’t have to take it. He doesn’t have to allow the abuse to continue, but he doesn’t want Chastity or Modesty to suffer as he has.

He just has to be strong a little while longer.

Credence goes to the washroom to run cool water over his stinging skin, gingerly twisting the knob and placing his palms under the tap as it flows, sighing softly when the water begins to soothe the burn. He blinks away tears that cling to his eyelashes, and grits his teeth to keep from crying out. He won’t give Mary Lou the satisfaction of hearing his pain.  
Not anymore.

Credence stands in front of the sink with his arms resting against the porcelain while his hands soak. He draws his gaze from the angry red stripes down to the smooth black numbers on his wrist.

Hopefully in three days something happens to end this.

Whatever it is, it has to be better.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graves POV

Percival Graves is sixteen when his timer starts.

It’s quiet in the library at Ilvermorny, with students scattered about, sitting at long tables and cushy chairs to study and do their homework. Seraphina Picquery sits beside him at one of the tables, scanning through a potions book while Percy scratches away on a scroll of parchment, expression focused. 

“Percy, look!” Sera gasps loudly into his ear, frantically shaking his shoulder in an attempt to gain his attention. This causes him to jolt and his hand to jerk, dragging a line of black ink through the essay he’s been writing. Percy furrows his thick brows and turns to glare at her with an annoyed huff.

“What gives?” He complains with a frown before turning back to wandlessly clear the mistake with a wave of his hand, something he’s getting better at every day, only to freeze mid air. The once motionless white 00:00:00:00:00:00 on his right wrist is now spinning rapidly and he can barely hear Sera squealing in delight beside him over the rush of blood pounding in his ears.

“Percy, your soulmate is being born!” Sera exclaims, wrapping an arm around his shoulder while he quietly gapes at his wrist. She starts to giggle when she turns to see his bottom lip trembling, rubbing a hand soothingly against his back, “It’s exciting isn’t it?”

He wipes roughly at his eyes and they sit huddled together to watch the numbers spin at a sickening speed. After some time it suddenly starts to slow down and the original white zeros fluidly shift to black. Percy notices that the only numbers moving now are in the seconds place. Counting down.

17:11:09:23:59:57

The sharp squeal Seraphina lets out earns them several irritated shushes from the surrounding students, with the librarian even poking her head around the corner to throw them a threatening look.

“Sorry,” she whispers to the room with a grimace before turning back to him with a huge grin on her face, “Congratulations, Percy!”

“Mercy Lewis,” he breathes, shakily reaching out to trace his thumb along the inky black timer, “Eighteen years? Th-That’s a long time,” he pauses for a moment as the realization dawns on him, “That’s a sixteen year age gap!” He croaks, instantly feeling dizzy and lightheaded.

“Hey, hey, hey—it’s alright Perce, it happens. It’s not as uncommon as you think,” she tells him quietly, leaning in to catch his gaze as it drifts aimlessly.

Percy rests against the table with an uneven breath, “I’m more worried about the amount of time than the age gap, to be honest.”

“The years will fly by and before you know it you’ll be meeting them,” Sera props her chin in her hand and stares at him with her head tilted, “Look at it this way, you’re gonna be so busy with Auror training and getting into MACUSA that you won’t have time to worry about the countdown, right?”

“I mean, I guess so,” he mumbles, knowing that’s not going to happen. He’s been waiting for this day his whole life. Waiting for the moment the white zeros would finally begin their count down. Percy has dreamt about his soulmate ever since he learned what the marks on his wrist meant as a child.

He is absolutely going to obsess about this.

Sera must see what he’s thinking because she sighs softly and reaches out to tap his timer, “It’ll be at zero before you know it. Don’t stress.”

“I’m not stressing,” he whispers defensively, shooing her hand away before swiftly clearing the ink stain from his essay, “And if I were, I think I’m allowed to.”

With a soft knowing sound she gathers her books and stands from the table, “I know where to get some Ogden’s if you need it,” she says with a wink before walking down the aisle and out of the library, leaving Percy behind to quietly stew.

In eighteen years he’ll meet his soulmate.

What are they going to be like? Will he meet them at MACUSA? Maybe they’ll end up working together. Will they have similar interests? Will they like him?

What if they don’t like him?

Percy stares down at the essay he needs to finish with a frown. How can he possibly focus now? 

*

For the next two weeks Percy feels like he’s in a dream, like the world around him is shrouded in a haze while he floats along on a cloud. Whenever he glances at the timer on his wrist his stomach flutters and his breath catches. He’s still in a state of disbelief. 

Before the countdown he was entirely convinced that it would never happen, that he somehow got stuck with a defective timer and didn’t actually have a soulmate. Percy spent hours staring down at the line of zeros in frustration, willing them to move. 

Now the numbers steadily tick down and he watches them reverently, completely fascinated with how they move against his skin—and if he gets clocked in the head with a book by Professor Rhinehard in potions class for not paying attention well, it only happened three times before the man threatened him with detention. That was effective enough to draw him out of his reverie.

By the end of the third week it’s time for the students to go home for the Thanksgiving holiday and Percy is sick to his stomach with anticipation. He knows his parents are going to be ecstatic to find out his timer has started and he just KNOWS that he’s not going to be able to hold back the outpouring of emotions. He’s already had a hard enough time not bursting out into tears in the Wampus common room and dorm, he’s definitely not going to keep them from Amelia and Roland Graves.

Percy’s mother Amelia breeds kneazles at their home in upstate New York while his father Roland works as the current Director of Magical Security at MACUSA, just like his father before him. Ever since Gondulphus Graves became one of the original twelve he has passed down a legacy that every Graves has followed, each descendant taking the role of Auror and moving up in the ranks.

Percy is going to be one of them.

Funny enough, his parents met when his father was a Junior Auror tasked with handling the bust of an illegal creatures breeding ring and ended up arresting his mother, a legally licensed breeder, in the confusion when he was given incorrect information and showed up at the wrong address.

Needless to say their first meeting wasn’t as romantic as soulmate countdowns usually are. Things worked out, however and now they have a son together and live in a beautiful three story craftsman in Rochester. Life is good.

Percy’s parents are already waiting at the station for him when he arrives by port key with several other classmates. The other teenagers hug each other and shout goodbyes before scattering off to their families. There’s a huge grin on his mother and father’s face as he approaches and he can’t help but break out into one of his own.

“Percy!” His mother squeals and rushes forward to scoop him into her arms, her shoulder length blonde curls bouncing with every move, “My sweet boy,” she coos happily, pulling back to gently squeeze his cheeks before peppering his face with kisses.

“Mama,” he groans, eyes squinted as his face is squished between her hands, “Please, not in front of everyone.”

“Amelia, love...you’re embarrassing the poor boy,” his father comments with an amused chuckle as he walks over. She releases him after one final kiss to the cheek and his father draws him into a firm embrace.

“Glad to be back?” His father asks, looking nearly identical to Percy except for the greying hair, blue eyes and awful handlebar mustache. It tickles his neck when his dad subtly nuzzles him before pulling back.

“I am. I’ve missed home,” he replies. 

It’s true. As much as he loves Ilvermorny and can’t wait to graduate and train to become an Auror, he’s been terribly homesick and missed his family.

Amelia takes his hand with a gentle smile, “Well, let’s get going.”

They leave the station and head towards the designated floo network in a nearby building with his mother’s arms looped around him and his father chatting away about everything that’s happened since Percy was last home. They write letters, of course but there’s just too much to fit it all into one. Plus, the stories are much better told in person.

“—and then he tried to tell me that his blind no-maj neighbor gave him the lethifold. Can you believe that?” Roland exclaims, shaking his head.

Percy stares at his father with wide eyes, “Was it out in the open?” 

“No, thankfully. He somehow managed to stuff it into a footlocker. Balls the size of Ukrainian Ironbelly eggs, I tell you what,” he snickers, using his hands to gesture.

“Roland!” His mother gasps out a laugh, covering her mouth as they enter the building and approach the fireplace to floo home to Rochester.

“They have to be to do something that stupid,” Percy replies with a smirk, ducking his head laughing when his mother playfully smacks his arm.

“Don’t encourage your father,” she says with a fond chuckle before nudging his arm, “Alright, in you go.”

Percy walks forward, grabbing a fistful of floo powder from the mounted container and steps into the large fireplace. He speaks the address to the Rochester floo network and drops the powder, being instantly swept away in a rush of green flames. 

Stepping out, Percy brushes ash from the shoulder of his coat and doesn’t have to wait long for his parents to step out of the fireplace behind him, his mother looping her arm through his.

“Let’s go home.”

*

Later that evening after dinner Percy is sitting in the living room with his parents—his mother snuggled up to his right with his father sipping firewhiskey to his left, arm draped along the back of the sofa. They’re in front of a crackling fire with Percy recounting the final move that won his house the quidditch match against Horned Serpent.

When there’s a lull in the conversation he carefully unbuttons his sleeve cuff, rolling the fabric up to his elbow before resting his arm across his mother’s lap wrist side up, turning to look at her shyly. As soon as her deep brown eyes see the timer she lets out a sharp gasp and covers her mouth. Amelia slowly reaches out to draw his wrist closer and lets out an excited squeal, “Oh, Roland look! Percy’s timer has started!”

His father leans forward to squint at the numbers on Percy’s wrist when she holds his arm out, a joyful expression lighting up on his face.

“So it has,” Roland grins broadly, letting out a guffaw as he firmly pats Percy’s chest, “This is wonderful news.” His father stands and walks over to the liquor cabinet near the fireplace, producing a crystal tumblr and lifting a bottle of Ogden’s to pour two fingers.

“Seriously?” Percy asks in disbelief, turning to look at his mother’s reaction. When she gives him an approving nod he glances back at his father, who approaches him with the tumblr in his other hand.

“Of course. It’s tradition. My father toasted me when my timer started counting down and now I have the honor of doing the same with you.”

Percy sniffles softly, taking the proffered glass as his bottom lip trembles, swirling the amber liquid to distract himself. He’s had firewhiskey before at school, smuggled in by a seventh year classmate to celebrate the end of term when he was in his fourth year, but this is the first time he’s done it it in front of his parents. It’s a bit surreal.

His mother shoots his father a wink when he asks if she’d like to toast too, walking back to the cabinet to pour her a glass. Roland returns, handing her the tumblr with a kiss on the cheek before sitting back down beside Percy.

“To Percy,” his father begins, lifting the glass with a dopey smile, “and his destined! May Fate guide them together and bring another soul into the Graves family. Here’s to the future and whatever it has in store for you, my son.”

They all clink their glasses together with an enthusiastic shout before throwing the whiskey back. The amber liquid burns when it hits Percy’s throat and he sputters, letting out snort while his father thumps his back with a rumbling laugh.

“Alright there?” When Percy gives a watery-eyed nod his father hums softly, leaning back against the sofa, “I’m so happy for you, Percy.”

His mother nods, setting her empty glass on the side table, “It’s so exciting when your timer begins,” she sighs softly in reminiscence, “It’s one of the most important moments in a witch or wizard’s life, you know.”

Of course. The countdown is a major milestone, just like when a magical child gets their letter for school or the moment they receive their first wand. It’s raw and exciting, marking the beginning of something monumental in their life. 

Percy frowns at his wrist. He’s happy that his timer has finally started but the fact that he has to wait so long to meet his destined dampens his spirit. He can feel the tears stinging his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Perce. I thought you’d be excited for this,” his mother says, taking the empty tumblr from his hand.

“Oh no, I am,” he says softly, “It’s just. I didn’t think I’d have to wait this long.” He drops his head with a sigh, feeling his mother shift beside him. She tucks her fingers under his chin and lifts his face to look at her.

“I know darling—but remember, your father and I have a twelve year age gap. It’s much less than eighteen but we had to wait, too,” she taps his chin lightly before leaning in to kiss his cheek, “You just have to trust Fate to guide you.”

Roland stands to collect their glasses, waving a hand to cast a wandless cleaning charm before sending them back to their shelf in the liquor cabinet, “Your mother is right,” he comments, following the tumblrs to refill his own, “Fate has designed a path for all of us, you just have to be patient.”

“It’ll go by so fast,” his mother adds reassuringly, reaching out to take Percy’s hand with a chuckle, “Let’s hope that your first meeting doesn’t go like ours went,” she throws Roland a smirk.

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

Amelia smiles sweetly, “No, I don’t think I will.”

*

Thanksgiving comes and goes with family gathering at the Graves home for the holiday. Uncle Josiah sneaks him alcohol throughout the evening and by the time it’s over he has glossy eyes and a smile plastered to his face while his mother chases the man around with her wand drawn, threatening to curse him for getting her precious baby drunk.

The festivities come to an end and before he knows it his parents are bidding him farewell at the station, with his mother tearfully kissing him goodbye and his father pulling him into a warm embrace. They’ll see him at Christmas, they say and he joins the other students at the port key.

The time carries on and Percy goes back to classes, studying for the end of year exams while signing up for the the specific courses he’ll need to take to begin his journey as an Auror when he returns to school for his final year.

During his seventh year Percy gets into a fight with Phillip Fischer, a skinny fifth year from Thunderbird who makes fun of Percy for being bonded to a child. Percy does it the no-maj way, catching the guy off guard with a solid right hook to the nose and they scuffle for a while, the young Wampus getting in several blows before he’s dragged off of the other kid by a teacher. They’re both given detention and Percy storms out of the office, pissed.

Sera finds him sitting at the back of the library some time later, a sympathetic expression on her face as she approaches, “I heard about what happened.”

“I don’t know why I let it get to me,” he mumbles, hanging his head as she takes a seat in the armchair next to him.

“I think he deserved it,” Sera states, crossing her legs beneath her, “It’s impolite to tease about someone’s Fate like that.”

Percy huffs softly, “Yeah, but now I have detention. I’m sure that won’t look good when I apply to MACUSA.”

Sera scoffs, “You really think they’re going to turn you away for one little scrap that happened in school? Unlikely.”

He doesn’t reply to that, instead he quietly watches the numbers tick down wondering how his destined is. Sera reaches over to touch his wrist, drawing his attention to look at her.

“It might seem like forever but soon enough that timer will reach zero.”

“Easy for you to say,” he shoots back, cutting his dark eyes over at her, “You’ve got less than a year until you meet yours.”

She rolls her eyes, lightly punching his arm, “None of that. You have to trust the path that Fate has chosen for you.”

Percy huffs but manages a tiny smile, “You’re starting to sound like my father.”

“Wise man,” she smirks before leaning against the arm of her chair to look at him, “Just think, you’ve got plenty of time to get your career going before you meet your destined. If you play it smart your soulmate will have a financially stable life and never want for anything. You want to provide that for them, right?”

“Of course I do,” Percy responds defensively.

Sera taps his wrist before pulling back, “Then use your time wisely and make a comfortable life for them. Don’t let assholes like Phillip Fischer control you’re emotions and get you into trouble. Be smart.”

“Yes mother.”

“Someday soon you’ll be saying “Yes, Madam President.”

“In your dreams.”

*

Turns out she was right.

Percy and Seraphina graduate from Ilvermorny and while she takes the path of politics he goes into Auror training and spends the next three years of his life working hard. He pushes his body and mind, working through blood, sweat, and tears to get to where he needs to be. It’s difficult training and they lose a lot of witches and wizards from the pressure, but Percy perseveres and climbs to the top of his class, graduating at twenty with honors and a glowing recommendation letter.

Fresh out of the training academy he applies to MACUSA and is hired immediately, moving into his own place—a single bedroom apartment within a magical distract in Manhattan. His parents stop by to help him set everything up.

After all of his belongings are brought over and put into place they celebrate that evening by going to Times Square for dinner and see a no-maj production of a musical called Wicked on Broadway afterwards. The show is rather entertaining and they all have a good laugh at the way witches are portrayed. As the show goes on Percy quietly taps his foot along with Elphaba as she sings Defying Gravity. It’s easily one of his favorite songs from the musical.

Once he’s back at his apartment and his parents have said good bye Percy takes a shower, dressing in a pair of black pajama pants before retiring for the evening. He lies in bed with his back to the door, staring down at his timer wistfully.

13:09:24:18:46:37

His soulmate is four now. He hopes they’re happy and he can’t wait until they finally meet.

*

At twenty-six he’s been working at MACUSA for six years and moves from Junior Auror status to Senior, receiving his first solo interrogation under the watchful eye of his father through the one-way mirror.

Sitting across from the murder suspect is a bit daunting but Percy pushes through his nerves, asking questions and trying to get a confession. The man eventually cracks telling him that he killed the victim because he was in love with her and was upset that they weren’t soulmates, basically saying “If I can’t have her then no one can.”

After he gets the confession Percy has to leave, feeling sickened by the interaction. How can someone be so cruel and selfish as to take another’s life just because they aren’t destined? Now an innocent woman is dead and her soulmate will never have the chance to meet her and that bothers him to the point of tears. Three lives were destroyed that day, and it absolutely crushed him. Percy goes home that night and polishes off a bottle of Ogden’s, eyes red-rimmed as he stares at the numbers on his wrist. 

He can’t imagine what it must feel like to have your timer stop, knowing what that means.

*

When his destined turns eleven Percy quietly celebrates their first milestone. Today they should have received their letter and soon they will start their magical education. He’s never been so proud. He’s half tempted to go to Ilvermorny and see if that will somehow change the timer, but realistically he knows that he can’t control Fate. When the time comes he’ll meet them and not a moment sooner, as much as Percy hates it.

That evening he lies restless in bed thinking about his soulmate, wondering what they’re like. He thinks about what house they’ll get sorted into and wonders if they’ll try out for quidditch. He might be biased but he hopes they get chosen for Wampus and imagines them sitting on the same sofa he used to sit on in the common room. 

Is his destined male or female? Percy doesn’t really care which gender they are, seeing as he finds both to have their own appeal. Maybe his destined will be a woman that grows up to have soft curves and delicate features. Maybe they’ll be a man with sharp edges and a ruggedness about them. He’ll be happy either way, simply ecstatic to have someone that was born just for him. The other half of his soul.

*

When Percy turns thirty his father decides to retire and live out the rest of his life back in Rochester breeding kneazles with Percy’s mother. So naturally the Director’s position is up for grabs and he’s one of many that have been nominated to fill it. It’s also time for a new President to be voted upon and Percy is thrilled to see that Seraphina is running.

At thirty Percival Graves makes history by being the youngest wizard in America to become Director of Magical Security—in return becoming President Seraphina Picquery’s right hand.

Later in Sera’s new office after the celebrations she playfully rubs it in his face with a cheeky “Told you so,” laughing in delight when Percy replies with an even sassier “Yes, Madam President.”

So Percy steps into the role with gusto, coming to be known as a strong yet compassionate leader. He’s by the book and tough on his Aurors, but only because he knows that they can handle it and that they will be better because of it. By his first year as director he has a loyal team full of talented witches and wizards, all hand picked for their skill and incredible work ethic.

Senior Auror Tina Goldstein is one of them and he has a soft spot for the young woman, proud as he watches her progress within the department. Percy often hands her the tough cases, trusting her ability as an Auror to make the right decision.

*

At thirty-two Percy is approached by a blonde woman in a tight red dress with an offer.

He’s out at a bar drinking with his Aurors one Friday night when the young woman sidles up next to him on the stool, flashing a flirty smile.

“Director Graves,” she purrs, hiking up the slit of her dress to display a pale thigh before casually reaching out to touch his arm, “Would you like some company?”

The intentional flutter of her eyelashes does absolutely nothing for him. Percy can admit that she’s beautiful and can’t deny that he isn’t tempted, but he knows he couldn’t do it. He’d be thinking about his destined the whole time and he just doesn’t have the heart to do that to them.

“Not interested, sorry.”

She doesn’t appear phased as she glances down to subtly look at his wrist where the sleeve has slid up to reveal his timer.

“It’s not like you’d be cheating,” she states coolly, flagging down the bartender with a wave of her hand, “I could show you a good time.”

Percy pulls his sleeve up to cover the numbers before withdrawing his arm from the counter, away from her trailing fingers, “I’m sure that you could,” he murmurs, throwing the rest of his fire whiskey back without so much as a flinch, “The answer is still no.”

She pouts when he stands, retrieving his wallet to pay for his tab before sliding it back into his pocket, grabbing his coat from the nearby stool.

As he’s slipping into his coat he leans in to whisper, “You came on a little strong. Better luck next time.”

Percy bids his Aurors good night, receiving a tipsy chorus of “Good night sir!” as he walks out the door and down the block to the designated apparition zone to go home.

After he became Director, Percy was able to afford a brownstone near the Woolworth building, furnishing it with elegant antiques as well as modern luxuries through the years. He’s turned it into something warm and inviting and he hopes that his soulmate will approve.

He returns home, sighing as he removes his coat and shoes, crossing the hall to his study for a night cap. 

A lot of people would probably criticize him for abstaining from sex, but he doesn’t give a shit. He won’t lie and say that he hasn’t fooled around before—mostly drunken kissing and groping in the back of a bar—but he’s never taken it further than that. He may just be a romantic but he wants to share that intimacy with his soulmate one day, not with some random stranger whose name he won’t even remember the next morning.

In less than two years he’ll meet his destined.

It can’t come fast enough.

*

00:00:01:23:48:04

A knock at his office door draws Percy’s attention away from where he’s been anxiously staring at his wrist. In two days he’s going to meet his soulmate and he is so entirely flustered that he can’t focus.

“Come in,” he calls out, attempting to school his expression into something less grimace-y. From the look on Sera’s face he’s unsuccessful.

“Are you just sitting in here pouting?” She accuses, closing the door behind her before walking over to lean against the edge of his desk. 

“I am not pouting. I do not pout,” he pouts, absently tracing his thumb along the timer.

With a sigh she crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, “You are, and you do. Is this about your timer?”

Percy leans back in his chair and copies her, crossing his arms in front of his chest while refusing to meet her gaze, “Maybe.”

“You’re working yourself up over nothing. Everything is going to be fine, you’ll see.” She says, reaching out to straighten his nameplate.

Percy throws his arms up to land in his lap with a huff, “I’m so nervous. Is there some kind of protocol for this? Am I supposed to know where to go or does it just happen?” He starts to ramble, his nerves slowly rising until Sera places a hand on his shoulder, effectively silencing him.

“Don’t worry about all of that. Just do what you normally would and let Fate take care of the rest.”

That’s a hard thing for someone who relies heavily on structure and order every day. To hand over control to an unseen force that has the power to shape the outcome of the universe? It makes Percy itch just thinking about it.

“Couldn’t Fate at least give me an address?”

Sera let’s out a tinkling laugh, “You’re such a control freak,” she comments, pushing off of his desk to stand beside him, “It’ll happen when it happens.”

“That was a legitimate question,” he mumbles with a frown, trying not to sulk, “I know.”

“Do I need to give you time off to prepare?” She asks, a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, shove it.”

“So polite.”

Percy leans forward to rest his elbows on the desk, “What did you need?”

“Came to let you know that there’s a meeting this afternoon and I expect you to be there without the sour face,” Sera replies uncrossing her arms to smooth down the front of her long skirt.

Percy looks her in the eye and sweetly says, “You’re getting the sour face.”

“Then don’t be surprised if I hex you,” she shoots back just as sweetly.

“Will I get to go home if you do?”

“Not a chance.”

*

After the meeting adjourns Percy goes to his office to finish up for the day, his mind so far from this months budget he couldn’t even tell you how much DMLE is getting. His thoughts continue to return to the timer as he sits down at his desk signing paperwork, trying to picture the scenario. 

Will they meet here at MACUSA? Hopefully it won’t turn out like his parents with him arresting his soulmate. That would be incredibly awkward.

He just can’t picture how this is going to play out and it’s stirring his anxiety up to the point where he’s wired and jumpy. Percy had to send Goldstein in his place during a raid because he feels too frazzled to be out in the field like this. He can’t risk his teams like that. 

Perhaps Sera should give him time off to prepare.

He obviously needs it.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timer reaches zero in the next chapter :3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POV

Credence  
* * * * *

00:00:00:03:45:12

Whatever is going to happen to him today once the timer reaches zero will happen while he’s at work. Credence isn’t sure if he should feel relieved or terrified by this information. Well at least if he dies it won’t be under Mary Lou’s roof, so that’s kind of reassuring if anything.

Credence quickly finishes his chores and goes to find Modesty. Ever since Mary Lou adopted the young girl she’s refused to send her to public school, insisting it’s a bad influence and that she’d be better off receiving her education at home. This means that he doesn’t have to run off to a public building to possibly say his final goodbye.

He finds her in her room playing with a worn handmade ragdoll, one of Chastity’s old toys. 

“Hey Cree,” she looks up when he enters, a soft smile on her face, “Is it time to hand out leaflets already?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says hesitantly, moving to sit beside her on the bed, “I just wanted to see you before I went out to my street.” 

He hates that he’s had to lie to the girls about his job but he couldn’t risk Mary Lou finding out.

She hums softly, swaying the doll back and forth, “That’s sweet of you, but you see me every day silly,” she giggles, scrunching her nose at him, “You okay? You’re acting funny.”

Credence rubs his hands together anxiously, “I, uh, yeah no, I’m just not feeling well today,” he fibs with a shaky sigh before reaching out to take her hand, “Can’t a big brother come see his baby sister if he wants to?”

Modesty lets out a tinkling laugh, nudging their shoulders together, “I guess,” she says before carefully leveling him with the most serious expression he’s ever seen on a ten year olds face. She turns his hand over to brush her fingers against the marks on his wrist, “You’re worried about your numbers.”

Nothing ever gets past her.

“I am,” he admits quietly, staring down at where the seconds continue to tick, “I-I’m scared, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

She frowns, “I know. But there’s no sense in worrying until you do know, right?”

Credence drops his head and huffs a laugh, “I suppose you’re right.”

“I know I am,” she states with a smirk.

Movement on the stairs makes them both jump and Credence hastily pulls her into a hug, whispering, “Love you Moe,” before standing and walking out of the room.

It’s Chastity that meets him in the hallway, throwing him a curious look when she sees his anxious expression, “Something wrong? You’re awfully pale,” she says in a low voice.

“Just not feeling well,” he mutters, rushing to give her an impromptu hug as well. She startles but hugs him back, seemingly confused by his bizarre behavior, “Bye Chas,” he murmurs, striding to the end of the hallway and down the stairs, grabbing a stack of leaflets from the kitchen table on his way out. Apparently Mary Lou is running errands, which Credence is immensely thankful for. He’s pretty sure that he might just pass out if he had to face her like this.

With a deep breath Credence tucks the pamphlets into his coat and exits the church, pulling it tight around him as the brisk air pricks at his skin through the thin material. He walks quickly to the gym, trying to distract himself from the countdown and what might happen once it reaches zero, but to no avail. His mind unhelpfully conjures up different scenarios, from spontaneously dropping dead to being a chosen test subject for extraterrestrials to poke and probe at. Credence can’t think of a single good thing that could happen once the time runs out and it’s driving him mad. Perhaps he’ll get whisked away by some fairytale knight in shining armor? Unlikely.

Shivering, he reaches the gym and changes out of his threadbare clothing into his usual work attire. If he survives whatever this countdown is he’ll need to find time to wash his uniform, and that thought is enough to make him burst out into hysterical laughter in the isolation of the locker room. 

With his clothes changed and folded he carefully places the safe pair into his secondhand backpack and puts it back into the locker. Luckily since it’s a community gym that’s free to use no one questions the locker that stays occupied and he doesn’t have to worry about losing his stuff. He replaces the combination lock and snaps it shut, turning to leave the room and head towards the gym exit.

*

He makes it to work and hesitantly checks his wrist.

00:00:00:03:06:52

Everything will be alright. Nothing to worry about. 

At least not right now.

When Credence enters the building he falters, gawking at how insanely busy it is. Angela waves him over and tells him to go ahead and clock in a little early, saying that she could really use the extra pair of hands to get drinks out faster. Credence nods and rushes to the office to clock in, punching in his employee serial number and racing back to the front once it’s verified in the system.

As soon as he gets behind the counter his mind is effectively wiped clean of the numbers on his wrist, instead it’s filled with numerous orders that flow in while he tries to keep up with the demand. 

It is a Monday, after all.

He spends the next couple of hours brewing coffees, mixing drinks and running to the back to retrieve trays of scones and biscottis to refill the ones that sell out quickly up front. Credence barely has time to breathe but he soldiers on every time Angela throws a relieved smile his way. They dance around one another in a flurry of green and white, working swiftly to fill the orders as they pour in.

“Credence, I need a venti caf black coffee for the name Graves, please,” Angela calls over to him at the pick-up counter where he’s just handed out a peppermint hot chocolate to a customer.

“Got it!” He calls back and strides over to the coffee maker where a fresh pot has just finished brewing, pulling a cup from the dispenser and hastily writing the name “Graves” on it with a black marker before pouring the steaming liquid into the cup. He snaps on a lid and carefully slips it into a cardboard sleeve, double checking once more to make sure the lid is on tight before walking briskly to the pick-up counter.

“Graves?” He calls out, scanning the crowd until a handsome man with an undercut steps forward to claim it.

When the man’s fingers touch the coffee cup he freezes, his expression instantly shifts from one of weariness to surprise, tired eyes visibly softening. Credence shivers as a strange yet pleasant sensation washes over him and, he can’t be sure, but he could almost swear that he sees the man tremble as well. His eyes jerk up to meet the man’s dark gaze.

The man—Graves, presumably stares at him with a mixture of shock, confusion, and—fondness? His deep brown eyes closely examine Credence’s face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. The man glances down, pulling back his sleeve with his left hand as if to check the time, only there’s no watch there. 

Credence sheepishly draws his attention down when the man isn’t looking to study his broad shoulders and bare neck. When his thoughts start to drift to a more scandalous path he snaps his eyes back up and swallows with an audible click.

When the man looks back at him he furrows his thick brows and blinks rapidly while Credence takes a moment to look at his face. He’s got to be in his early thirties, he’s guessing, with dark brown hair thats faintly silver at the ears. He’s classically handsome with a strong jaw, gorgeous round eyes and two moles on his cheek below his left eye. Credence thinks they’re positively adorable. 

He’s immaculately dressed wearing a long black wool coat lined with white, a well-fitting suit and tie with a dark blue scarf draped around his neck, completing the ensemble. He’s ridiculously good looking and Credence finds himself flushing beneath the man’s beautiful gaze. He could easily get lost in it forever.

Remembering where they are and that he’s on the clock Credence let’s the cup go as if it’s just spilled and burned him. The man looks down once more, opening and closing his mouth like he’s trying to figure out what to say before he glances up with his lips pursed, nodding as he swiftly turns on his heel to stride out the door, coffee in hand.

Credence’s knees threaten to give out, his body reacting as if it’s just lost something vital. As his pulse flutters he mindlessly glances down, his breath hitching when he notices the timer on his wrist is flashing white zeros.

_________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

At midnight Percy was called into work for an emergency; a security breach in Brooklyn where it was reported that an intoxicated wizard started firing unforgivables at passing no-maj on his way home from a bar. Apparently he had just lost his job and was very upset. 

That’s one way to vent—Sure, just hit a few no-maj with the Cruciatus curse and you’ll feel a lot better.

Makes perfect sense.

So he and his team spent most of the morning booking the man, taking statements, treating the victims and ultimately Obliviating all witnesses.

It’s nearly noon and Percy is dead exhausted, his mind completely foggy as he strides down the sidewalk. After going back and forth between Brooklyn and Manhattan he’s thankfully left the apparition zone for the last time and is walking towards the Woolworth building when the intoxicating aroma of coffee hits him. It smells divine and the temptation is too strong, he can’t wait until he gets back to the office. 

He needs caffeine, stat.

Percy tracks the smell to a no-maj coffee franchise, Starlucky or something another. He doesn’t care enough to look at the sign again, only knows that the logo is a green mermaid and he laughs quietly to himself at the terrible depiction as he pushes the door open. Mermaids don’t look like that. 

He would know, considering that he was almost drowned by one when he was a Junior Auror.

There’s a long line and Percy openly groans.  
Screw it, he’s already here and the coffee smells like heaven so he’ll wait.

He falls in line behind a man chatting animatedly into a cell phone and the whole thing truly feels bizarre. Percy has been inside no-maj establishments before but it’s always a weird experience, seeing people use electronic devices and doing everything by hand. It must be frustrating.

The line slowly dwindles down until it’s finally his turn and he squints at the board feeling lost.

What the fuck are these drink sizes?

“Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you?” 

Starbucks, that’s it.

There’s a woman behind the counter wearing a green apron like every other employee, smiling at him expectantly while he struggles to translate the menu. She’d look at him like he’s crazy if he asked her to explain everything, and with a line steadily growing behind him he can’t do that. One person has already huffed and he’s about three seconds away from breaking the Statute of Secrecy by turning around to hit them with a Stupefy.

Percy instead scans the board in confusion, wrinkling his brows as he gestures with his hands, “Uhhh large coffee? Black.” 

Why do they have to get fancy with the names?

The woman—Angela, her name tag reads, smiles at him sympathetically, “Sure thing. Anything else for you today.”

He shakes his head in the negative while reaching for his wallet, carefully pulling out the proper no-maj currency when she tells him his total. Once he’s paid she asks for his name and he can’t help but dumbly blurt out “Why?”

When she explains that it’s for them to call him when it’s ready he tells her to just put Graves. He’s certain to get a few strange looks if they call out Percival.

After she yells out his order for another employee to make Percy moves off to the side, leaning against a decorative divider while he waits. He scans the shop and thinks that it’s not too bad. A bit too commercial for his tastes, but based on the crowd that’s in the building they must be doing something right.

His mind wanders as he zones out, absolutely wiped and desperate for bed. He’s thinking about making it a half day when a gentle tenor calls his name, making him jerk back to awareness.

“Graves?”

Finally, caffeine.

Percy pushes off of the divider and steps forward, approaching the second counter to groggily receive his coffee. It’s as he’s reaching out to take it, fingers brushing the cup, that he freezes. His gaze locks on to a black timer on the worker’s wrist just as it hits zero, fluidly shifting into a blinking white, concluding their countdown. In that same instant a warm, tingly sensation rushes through him and he shivers, not missing the way the other person does too.

His eyes slowly follow the pale arm up to the man’s face and it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room when their gazes meet. Percy falls in love immediately.

Even without checking his own timer he KNOWS.

This is his soulmate.

Staring back at him is the most beautiful young man he’s ever seen. Dark feline eyes study him just as closely and he unashamedly maps out the angelic face before him. The man has porcelain skin with razor sharp cheekbones and a jaw so prominent Percy can hardly believe that this is a real, living person and not a sculpture. He has dark brown hair like his own, hacked short and slightly messy. He’s sure that if they were to grow out they’d curl and he instantly has a burning desire to see the other with flowing waves.

They’re about the same height, but where Percival is broad in the shoulders and slim in the hips this man is of slighter frame, his slender body only adding to the ethereal effect. He swiftly looks for a name tag, but finds nothing.

Pretending to check the time, Percy subtly pulls back the sleeve of his right arm to look at his wrist, confirming what he already knew.

This is his soulmate and they’re working in a no-maj coffee shop. They clearly don’t know what the timer is, if the confused expression is anything to go by.

How did this happen? WHY did this happen?

He has so many questions but they can’t be asked here. Not now. Percy realizes that he’s standing there just opening and closing his mouth like an idiot and he panics, pursing his lips as he looks up at the young man once more, who has dropped his hand at some point, leaving him feeling strangely alone. Not knowing what to do Percy quickly nods his head and turns on his heel, fleeing the suddenly stuffy coffee shop with his heart pounding.

‘What the hell was that!? You’ve been waiting your whole life for this moment and you’re going to run away? You could have at least gotten his name, you fucking moron!’

Percy’s mind is a swirl of thoughts and self-directed insults as he practically jogs to MACUSA, when something makes him freeze in his escape. There’s a strong pull within his chest, like a hand has reached inside to grip him by the spine and make him stop. Scanning the area quickly to ensure no one is looking he ducks into a nearby alley to send Goldstein and Sera a Patronus.

When his wolf has the message it turns to pad off, going incorporeal as it rounds the corner and Percy leaves the alley, marching back to the coffee shop with his stomach fluttering nervously.

He had planned on going back at some point, of course, and had only bolted because he couldn’t possibly stand at the counter and say, “So hey, look. You’re my soulmate and you’re also a wizard...probably didn’t know that. Wanna have dinner with me?

Because that would go over so well.

But something in Percy is telling him to go back and he’s not sure if it’s his conscience or Fate. Either way he’s just made it to the coffee shop, pushed the door open and strolled back in.

It’s not nearly as packed as it was when he left, but he can see the kid hustling around pouring coffees and he doesn’t have the courage yet to go up to the counter and have an actual conversation with him, so Percy hurries to tuck himself away into a corner with a plush armchair to absently sip at his coffee, subtly watching the other.

Percy works through the coffee without actually tasting it, his eyes never once leaving the young man as he observes his movements.

He’s not being creepy, not at all. It is perfectly acceptable to watch your soulmate—one you’ve never even spoken to before—from across a coffee shop while he works. Nothing is going to change his mind about that.

When Percy directs his attention to the green apron tied around the man’s waist he frowns. Now that he notices it the other appears to be underfed as opposed to naturally skinny and that bothers him greatly. Has the kid been eating okay? And now that he’s really able to study him he can see faint marks on the young man’s palms.  
What can that be? 

As the young man approaches the pick-up counter and calls out a name his cat-like eyes fall upon Percy followed by another pleasant rippling sensation flowing down his back, drawing out a shiver. The young man looks surprised to see him again, obviously not expecting to, and he may just be seeing things from the lack of sleep but it almost looks like the kid is relieved to see him.  
Percy can hope.

While he sits here watching his soulmate work a no-maj job Percy chews the inside of his cheek and wracks his brain for answers.

Why is he here? What led to this? He should have a job befitting of a wizard somewhere in their community—not here serving overpriced coffee in some no-maj establishment to grumpy businessmen. The more he thinks about it the more it pisses him off because something is clearly wrong. From the man’s reaction Percy is sure that he doesn’t know about his magical heritage or what the timer means.

He will get to the bottom of it.

After nearly an hour Percy gains the confidence to stand from the armchair and approaches the counter. He purchases another coffee so he has a reason to talk to his soulmate and swiftly strides up when his name is called by that beautiful voice. The other man looks just as nervous as he feels.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his body trembling when he takes the cup, “What’s your name?”

The younger man blinks quickly, lips parting with a flush before he murmurs, “Credence, sir.”

Percy closes his eyes for a moment, soaking it in, “Credence,” he repeats, enjoying the way it feels on his tongue. He feels a sense of elation at finally knowing the name of his soulmate.

When he opens his eyes Credence is staring at him with a gentle, albeit confused expression. He’s frozen in place just like Percy, probably just as unwilling to end the interaction as he is.

He thinks for a moment before saying, “Hello Credence, I’m Percival Graves and I was wondering what time you get off work, I have a few questions I’d like to ask you,” with that said he pulls his MACUSA badge from the inner pocket of his coat and briefly flashes it, hoping the younger man won’t ask to see it again.

The dread that takes over Credence’s face crushes him so he quickly adds, “Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble. I just need to talk to you.”

The younger man swallows hard and nods, “M-my shift ends in five minutes.”

“Wonderful,” Percy replies with a gentle smile, his gaze softening as he looks at Credence before he carefully schools his expression and nods to the young man. He reluctantly turns away from the counter and walks back over to the armchair to wait, pulse thumping so loudly he can hear the rush of it in his head.

In five minutes he’s going to turn this kid’s world upside down.

He’s not a nervous wreck. Nope. Not at all.

_________________________________________  
Credence  
* * * * *

When Graves came back to the counter to get another coffee Credence felt an odd mixture of butterflies and anxiety. It spiked when the man flashed some kind of badge and said he needed to ask him a few questions after his shift. He had instantly noticed when Graves returned to the coffee shop, because a bizarre sense alerted him. Credence doesn’t know how to explain it but he could actually feel the man’s presence, like some sort of connection that, oddly enough felt...right.

Now he’s in a mild state of panic as he tries to make it through the last five minutes without cracking. Angela must see the stress rolling off of him because she walks over to lean down and whisper in his ear, “Everything alright? You don’t look so well.”

“Ah—yeah, no I’m fine. Just. The coffee is getting to me, you know how it is.”

She doesn’t look convinced but she nods, her eyes drifting over to where Graves sits in the corner of the lobby before she returns to the counter to assist another customer.

Credence’s timer stopped when that man first came in and bought a coffee. Does it have something to do with him? He must work for some sort of law enforcement if he has a badge, no matter how strange it was. It was similar to badges he’s seen detectives carry before, but something about the coloring and size was off. Credence probably should have asked to see it better but at the time he could barely get his name past his lips.

Graves assured him that he wasn’t in trouble, but what could he possibly want to ask him? All he ever does is go to work for three to four hours and go home to do chores. He hasn’t witnessed a crime that he knows of and hasn’t spoken to anybody except his coworkers and the girls. Oh God, is it about the girls? Is it about Mary Lou? 

The rush of anxiety that floods through him is so immense that he has to duck out of sight for a moment to collect his bearings, take a deep breath and return to the front to wipe the counters. He doesn’t have the benefit of being distracted by orders because his mind is entirely consumed with what’s going to happen once he clocks out.

Credence can see Graves watching him from the corner of his eye, and he feels a combination of fried nerves and excitement. There’s something about the man that has him on edge in both the worst and best way. He can’t explain what he’s feeling, only that there’s this sense of familiarity when he looks at him. A sense of belonging, like he’s known him his whole life.

It’s a bit jarring to say the least.

Five minutes pass painfully slow and before he knows it Credence is punching his employee number into the computer to clock out. Angela bids him a good afternoon and watches dubiously as Graves stands to meet him beyond the counter. Credence gives a reassuring smile to put her at ease before walking around to join the man.

A rush of delight hits him when he sees they’re about the same height, and why that pleases him is anybody’s guess. 

Graves offers a soft smile, “Ready?”

When Credence nods nervously the man strides to the door and holds it open for him, following after once he crosses the threshold.

“This way,” the man says, guiding him to the left with a nod as they leave the coffee shop.

Credence anxiously wrings his apron, torn between saying something and screaming. He’s never felt this shaken up in his life and when Graves waves a hand towards the Woolworth building he throws the man a confused look. Why would they come here?

They approach a doorman dressed in a smart suit and the man instantly inclines his head saying, “Director Graves, sir.”

Director? Is that similar to the Chief of Police?

He doesn’t have time to ponder that as Graves politely nods to the man before guiding him through the open door and into a brightly lit entryway. Credence has never been inside the Woolworth building before, though he has definitely passed it on numerous occasions ever since he was a child. It’s supposed to be full of offices, he believes.

A bolt of tingles rushes through him when Graves gently takes his arm as they walk up the steps and further into the building. He jumps in surprise and swiftly turns to look at the man, noticing how his eyes flutter and his breath hitches. Obviously he felt it too. He must have. 

When Graves turns to look at him he’s struck by the intense emotion he sees in the man’s dark eyes. The softness there, the tender fondness that takes his breath away. He doesn’t understand why the man is looking at him like that but he can’t deny that it makes his soul sing. Credence has never experienced this before and it’s completely terrifying.

“This way,” Graves says roughly, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly as they walk.

Credence doesn’t know what he was expecting. People walking around working, of course, that was a given. What he had not expected was to find a gigantic clock in the center of the building that says Magical Threat Level, with colors ranging from the green to red; the big hand points to a light green section, reading Level 2: Moderate Threat.

What?

His eyes frantically scan the scene before him as his brain slowly short-circuits.

There’s some sort of creatures wandering amongst the crowd of people—short, stubby things with huge ears and pointed noses, wearing what appears to be pillow cases. His eyes practically bulge out of his head when he sees what can only be described as a giant in massive handcuffs being led by two men.

Credence begins to feel dizzy when he spots a cage with a—no way; A unicorn? An honest-to-God living, breathing unicorn. Surely it must be fake, right? It has to be. This is all just a strange dream and he’ll wake up any moment in his bed in the attic.

He must have stopped walking because Graves is standing in front of him with a concerned expression.

Going pale he shakily turns to look at the man and blurts out, “Is this hell?”

He’s dead, right? He died and this aptly named Graves is some sort of grim reaper taking him to meet the devil. That’s what the timer was.

Graves rubs his back in a comforting manner and Credence can’t help but lean into the touch, closing his eyes to take a steady breath while he attempts to battle the disorientation he’s currently experiencing.

“It feels like it sometimes,” the man chuckles, continuing to walk once Credence seems stable enough to keep moving.

He walks beside the man in a daze towards a lift with yet another bizarre creature. This one is similar to the others wearing pillowcases—short with pointy ears—only where they have huge, round eyes this...thing...has beady black eyes and sharp teeth, wearing a navy bellboy uniform. 

It must be a demon.

“Red,” Graves greets the thing as they enter the lift and Credence places himself between the man and the frame of the carriage, skeptical of the creature.

He sputters when it responds, unable to control his reaction. The demon scrutinizes him before turning his black eyes to the man.

“Director Graves. How’s it going?” It says, lifting a sleek cane to push a button, “Major Investigations?”

The man nods before glancing at Credence with a soft look, “We’re almost there, don’t worry.”

This whole thing is entirely outlandish but the one thing that makes him almost burst out into hysterical laughter is Graves’ calm attitude to the whole situation; like this is all totally normal.

Like it’s just another typical Monday.

Graves takes his arm once more when the lift comes to a halt, bidding the creature farewell and blessedly leading Credence out and away from the lift. He’s steadily losing his grip on reality as they walk down a long hallway, the soft taps of their shoes echoing back to them the only sound in the hall. The man stops them before a closed door, presumably for him to stand judgement.

Credence doesn’t know why, after everything he’s just witnessed, the plaque on the door reading Percival C. Graves, Director of Magical Security does it for him. There’s a sudden ringing in his ear, a prickly tingle in his scalp and he feels increasingly dizzy.

That’s when his vision blacks out and he pitches forward.

_________________________________________  
Percy  
* * * 

When he feels Credence go limp beside him, Percy instinctively surges forward to catch him before he can hit the floor. He manages to get his arms around the young man’s chest and is able to lower him into a sitting position against the wall, tilting his head so he doesn’t fall over. Percy huffs out a sigh as he rubs his jaw, trying to think of what to do.

Mercy Lewis, he knew this would be too much.

He could tell by how pale Credence became as they continued further into the building that it was only a matter of time before he keeled over from shock.

As much as it hurts him that he had to do it like this, it was the only reasonable way to go about it. This certainly isn’t a conversation to be had over coffee out in the no-maj public. 

Percy unlocks his office and carefully lifts the younger man bridal style, with his right arm under his knees and his other arm supporting his head and enters the room. It doesn’t occur to him to use a levitating charm until after he’s laid Credence down on the sofa in his office. Oh well, no one was around to make fun of him and he got to hold the other man so...win-win.

He takes a moment to breathe, glancing around his office trying not to panic when an idea pops into his head. 

Percy sends for Sera, tucking his wand away once he’s sent the message and slipping out of his coat, hanging it on a rack by the door. He crouches beside Credence while he waits, studying the man’s face and unable to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, so he does. Percy ghosts his knuckles against a warm cheek and shivers at the sensation that passes between them. He heard about this in school and from his parents; a tingly feeling one experiences whenever they touch their soulmate.

It’s bizarre but not unpleasant in the slightest.

He jerks back at the knock on his door and turns to see Sera slipping in, closing it behind her.

“Percy, what’s wrong? You said this was urgent—“

Sera freezes when she spots Credence on the couch, her dark eyes slowly shifting to where Percy kneels. He grimaces in greeting.

“Is...is this your soulmate?” She gasps, her hand stuck between touching her chest and covering her mouth, simply hovering there like she isn’t sure what to do with it. After a moment her brain seems to reboot and she strides forward, crossing her arms and pinning Percy with a narrowed gaze.

“Alright, did you hit him with a stunner?”

Percy sputters, “Wha—I did not ATTACK my soulmate, Sera. Mercy fuckin’ Lewis,” he drags a hand across his face in exasperation before glaring at her, “He fainted because I brought him into a place I’m sure he never knew existed,” he states bitterly.”

Confusion bleeds into her expression, “Never knew existed? I don’t understand,” she says, shaking her head.

“Well then, let me explain.”

So Percy does explain, telling Seraphina about the meeting at the coffee shop, his assumption that the kid didn’t know about magic and the confirmation from his reaction upon entering MACUSA. How he looked at Red like the goblin just crawled from the depths of hell to eat his soul, how Credence passed out when they reached his office, and Percy calling for Sera because he didn’t know what else to do.

She looks at him bewildered and he echoes that sentiment, watching Credence’s face as his chest rises and falls steadily.

“How could this happen, Sera?” Percy asks with a frown, reaching out to caress the younger man’s cheek once more, relishing the pleasant spark.

Sera opens and closes her mouth a few times before murmuring, “I honestly don’t know, Percy.”

“I imagined that when I met my soulmate we’d be bonding over Ilvermorny houses right now—not having them passed out in my office because they’ve never seen a goblin before. I need to know why,” he says, anger hot in his voice.

How did Credence slip under the radar?

She’s opening her mouth to say something when they both hesitate as a soft groan draws their attention. Percy swiftly retracts his arm, not wanting to potentially upset the man when he comes-to and discovers the stranger from the coffee shop fondling him.

Credence’s lashes flutter and he sluggishly opens his eyes. Percy holds his breath as the young man stares blankly at the ceiling, releasing it as soon as those beautiful eyes find his face. He looks looks incredibly disoriented and Percy feels terrible for dropping all of this on him out of the blue.

“W-what happened?” He croaks and without prompting Sera strides over to Percy’s desk where a pitcher of water sits, pouring Credence a glass. The young man’s eyes snap to her, watching the activity and quietly thanking her when she returns to hand him the drink.

“You passed out,” Percy replies, resting his forearm on one of the cushions, “You’ve had an exciting afternoon,” he adds with a nervous chuckle.

Credence owlishly turns his head from Sera to Percy, blinking slowly as if he’s trying to remember what happened. He locks his eyes onto Sera in a silent question and she responds immediately, her voice taking on a soothing timbre as she speaks, leaving her Madam persona behind for now. Percy is grateful for the gesture.

“My name is Seraphina Picquery, and I’m going to be completely honest with you, as wild as this may sound; I’m the President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Yes, I understand how far-fetched that might seem, but I can assure you that I’m telling the truth.”

Well, no sense in dancing around it, the kid has already seen house elves, a unicorn and Red.

Credence moves to sit up and Percy helps him, his chest swelling with emotion when the young man allows him to touch his arm. He blinks rapidly, takes a sip of water and the says, “I believe you.”

Sera is silent for a moment before she smiles and says, “I am certainly glad to hear that. I thought I might have to prove it.”

The younger man looks at her as if she’s just sprouted another head, “Prove it? How?”

Without missing a beat Sera withdraws her wand and the kid’s eyes grow to the size of saucers. He gawks as she lifts it into the air, casting a spoken Winguardium Leviosa on the glass of water he’s holding, and gracefully guides it up to float in front of him. 

Percy isn’t sure if that was the best decision because Credence is pale again and it looks as if he’s slipped into another dimension with shock clear on his face.

Sera returns the glass to his trembling hands and tucks her wand away before looking at him with a sheepish grin, “Too much?”

Credence absently takes another sip of water before resting the wobbling glass against his thigh to say, “Witches are real?”

Oh boy, they have a lot to tell him.

_________________________________________  
Credence  
* * * * *

The two people—Graves and President Picquery—sit in armchairs across from him (he nearly passed out again when he watched the man “Transfigured” a second chair using a book from one of the shelves) and tell him about the wizarding world. Apparently they do exist, just like Mary Lou had insisted, and supposedly he’s one of them. That bit of information overwhelms him. 

He listens to them talk about the building they’re in, MACUSA they call it, and Graves goes on to shyly describe his job. Credence was right about him being some sort of law enforcement; turns out he’s the head of his department and they deal with magical crimes and the security of the nation, working to protect the “Statute of Secrecy,” or “keeping the ‘no-maj’ from knowing of their existence.” “Non-wizards,” Picquery helpfully added when he stared blankly.

As the Director begins to ask Credence a question about doing things as a child that he couldn’t explain, an alarm goes off, causing him to jolt hard. For some reason his knee-jerk reaction is to reach for Graves, and he’s surprised when man unconsciously does so as well, each grabbing the others arm.

“What is it?” Graves asks Picquery as she stands and walks to the man’s desk, checking a miniature version of the clock he saw in the front of the building.

“Level six emergency, they’re calling for us in the bullpen,” she replies with a deep frown, turning back to face the man.

Graves stares at Credence for a moment, seemingly hesitant before he gives the younger man’s arm a squeeze and rises. He strides to the door and opens it, pulling his wand out to snake it around the corner. Whatever he did only takes a moment as the man steps back into the room to hover near Credence, folding his arms behind his back.

Suddenly there’s a light knock before a short-haired brunette pokes her head in, “Yes, Mr. Graves?” She asks, entering after he gestures with a wave of his hand.

“What’s the situation?”

“Juvenile Hungarian Horntail at The Blind Pig. I have no idea how they managed to get it in there. Illegal extension charm, perhaps.”

Graves swears quietly and drops his head with a sigh, “Has Scamander been briefed?”

“He’s already here. We’re just waiting for you, sir.”

The man turns to look at Credence once more with an expression so soft and tender that it has his stomach fluttering.

“I need you to stay behind and keep this young man company. His name is Credence.”

The woman blinks in surprise but nods, her brown eyes sliding over to examine him, “Yes sir.”

Graves turns to Credence and kneels in front of him once more, “This is Tina Goldstein. I have to leave for a bit but she’ll be here to keep you company, okay Credence?” He asks, reaching out to touch him but apparently changes his mind at the last second as he drops his hand to rest on his knee instead.

Credence mourns the aborted movement, desperate to feel the man’s touch again, but says nothing of it.

“Okay,” he whispers, swallowing hard.

The man gazes at him for the longest time, his dark eyes scanning the youths face with something akin to adoration, before he nods and stands. He walks over to the lady and leans in, whispering something that result in her eyes growing wide.

“Keep an eye on him,” Graves murmurs before following Picquery out of the office, casting one last wistful look Credence’s way before he disappears.

There’s something about the way the man looks at him that steals his breath and makes his heart beat faster, and he can’t figure out why.

The woman—Tina—stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, eyeing Credence like she doesn’t know what to do. After a moment she walks to the desk and leans against it, nervously smoothing down the fabric of her grey trousers.

“Credence was it?” She questions softly with a timid smile.

He nods slowly, anxiously turning to glance at the door and then back to Tina, “Yes ma’am,” he replies quietly.

Tina chuckles lightly, “No need to call me ma’am, just Tina is fine.”

“Tina,” Credence repeats, feeling just as awkward. He’s still incredibly disoriented and has a load of shocking new information he doesn’t know how to process. It’s slowly taking over his rational thoughts, as well as his anxiety, causing his breath to quicken.

Witches are real. Magic is real; he saw it with his own eyes. Mary Lou was right. 

He forgot to ask about the timer and what it means. No doubt it has to do with magic too.

Witches are real.

Magic is real.

It’s all real.

A nervous energy continues to bubble within Credence and he feels like he’s about to suffocate. The alarm on the miniature threat clock chimes, drawing Tina’s attention away, and before he realizes what he’s doing Credence bolts for the door, snatches it open and sprints down the hall.

In his state of panic, Credence’s fight-or-flight response has kicked in and he mindlessly gives himself over to the instinct, sprinting blindly in the general direction Graves brought him when they came in. He can faintly hear Tina calling his name but he doesn’t stop, continuing to run until he spots the lift. Thankfully it’s at the top with men and women exiting, and he swiftly slides inside, blurting out that he needs to go to the ground floor without looking at the...whatever he is.

The creature eyes him suspiciously but presses a button and the grate closes before the lift lurches forward to begin its descent. Credence can still hear Tina shouting after him, but they’re already too far down for him to see her when he fearfully glances up.

When the lift comes to a stop Credence hastily thanks the demonic troll doll and rushes out of the carriage, nearly bowling over a group of people standing there waiting. A few holler at him to watch where he’s going and he’s sure that some give him a dirty look, but he doesn’t notice it. His focus is locked onto the exit beyond the entryway and he picks up speed, no intention of stopping as he blows past people, creatures and flying origami birds. 

He has to get out, he can’t breathe in here.

Credence busts through the door, narrowly missing the doorman who shouts at him. Adrenaline carries him down the steps and racing along the sidewalk, his mind frantically urging him to go home.

No.

No; he can’t go home. It’s too late out and he hasn’t changed his clothes. Mary Lou will know he hasn’t been handing out leaflets and there’s no possible way to explain why he’s wearing a Starbucks uniform.

In the thrall of an anxiety attack, Credence doesn’t stop running, allowing his legs to override his brain and take him somewhere quiet and familiar. He just needs a place to think.

As his lungs burn, threatening to give out on him, he spots foliage in the distance; Columbus Park.

He can’t go home. He can’t go back.

He can rest here for a while and think of what to do.

He’ll think of something.

*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Alternating

Percy  
* * *

“Can you tell me why there was an irate dragon in my city, or more specifically, in YOUR bar?” Percy coolly questions Gnarlack, his arms tucked behind him as he scowls down at the owner of The Blind Pig; a sleazy pub that dabbles in all manner of illegal atrocities with an even sleazier clientele. 

They’ve shut this place down so many times it makes his head spin just thinking about it.

Off to the side a deafening roar causes several of the cuffed suspects to cry out in fear and Percy casually glances over at the battered suitcase on the floor. Of course it isn’t muffled. Why would it be?

Newt Scamander has managed to calm and corral the creature using whatever beast whisperer talent he possesses to get the raging Horntail down into his case with minor injuries and the Statute protected. Even with the lid closed, however the dragon’s irritated complaints can be heard and its riling their detainees up, not that he cares much about that. The dragon was their fault, after all. 

It does pose an issue, nonetheless.

Percy will have to remind Scamander to refresh the muffling charm if he insists upon carrying that Morgana forsaken, Statute-breaking time-bomb around the city with him. Why did Percy agree to it when the Brit was hired on as a consultant? 

Oh, because he’s obviously lost his damn mind, that’s why.

Goldstein and her soulmate are going to get an earful when he gets back to MACUSA, that’s for sure. A non-muffling, migraine-inducing, walking disaster is what Scamander is. 

Yeah, so maybe he has a heart of gold, and perhaps he’s got a way of talking about his creatures that’s passionate and endearing.

Percy doesn’t have a soft spot for the flagrant rule breaker, no sir—and no, he will not take Veritaserum to prove it.

A disdainful hum draws his attention back to Gnarlack, who has been taking his time responding, a dirty sneer on his face as he examines Percy.

The goblin puffs on his cigar, seemingly unfazed by Percy’s intimidation tactic. “How am I s’posed to know what folks carry ‘round in their pockets? Anyways, I usually go with a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy,” he replies with a smug grin, ashing the cigar in a crystal tray sitting on the bar.

“I don’t ask. They don’t tell.”

Unamused, Percy reaches out to pluck the cigar from Gnarlack’s mangled fingers on its journey back between his sharp teeth.

“That’s very convenient for you,” he murmurs, eyeing the lit stogie with disgust before snuffing it out in the ashtray, “Unfortunately for you I am asking, and you will tell or you’re going to find yourself sitting in one of our holding cells while we investigate, and let me just say—“

Percy enthusiastically flicks the cigar over the counter where it hits the floor with a dull thump,  
“—It might just take a while, if you catch my drift.”

Gnarlack narrows his beady eyes and curls his lip, “You threatenin’ me, Director Graves?” He asks evenly, maintaining eye contact as he digs around in his waistcoat for what Percy is certain is another cigar.

“Oh, not at all—,” He says smoothly, shifting his attention to the case on the floor as the lid pops open and Scamander climbs out, wavy auburn hair in utter disarray with soot smeared across his cheek. Percy calmly turns back to Gnarlack, offering him a sweet grin, “—That’s a promise. So. Anything you’d like to share with me, perhaps?”

With a low growl the goblin bares his pointed teeth, and combined with his black, bottomless eyes Percy is reminded of a shark. It’s rather unnerving.

Gnarlack finally produces a fresh cigar from his pocket and with wandless magic he swiftly clips the cap before placing the foot between his back teeth, “Let’s just say someone must’ve been lookin’ to add somethin’ special to their...exotic collection.”

Scamander has just clicked the latches into place, standing to stride over looking pissed off as he regards the goblin. “Are you saying someone is collecting magical beasts?” He asks in a sharp, clipped tone.

“That’s what you’re sayin’,” Gnarlack responds, uninterested as he slowly lights the stogie with one disfigured finger.

The Englishman’s nostrils flare and he leans forward, narrowing his eyes, “If creatures are being harmed for someone’s cruel hobby, I—“

Gnarlack huffs, “Who the hell are you?” He eyes the man contemptuously before brushing him off, cutting his black void glare to Percy, “I ain’t got time for this shit. I’ve got a business to run, and it ain’t my fault those idiots brought a dragon in here.”

Percy pulls the fuming magizoologist aside and whispers, “Easy Newt, I’ve got this. Get that case back to MACUSA and wait for the team—muffle that damn thing before you do,” he adds firmly.

The other man sighs heavily but nods, retrieving his wand to do as he’s told. Scamander swiftly casts the charm on the suitcase before slipping his wand away, looking at Percy as if to say ‘There. Happy now?’ while adjusting the handle in his grip. 

Percy dismisses him with a nod and the man goes, walking briskly to the exit.

Turning back to the smug bar owner, Percy opens his mouth to ask another question when a sudden commotion at the entrance seizes his attention. He spots Goldstein making her way through the other Aurors , wearing a panicked expression and—

Credence isn’t with her.

Dread hits Percy like a blast of freezing water, sharp and icy as it drenches him. He hastily waves Fontaine over, instructing the man to continue questioning Gnarlack before he steps away.

Just short of jogging, Percy meets Goldstein the rest of the way, pointlessly looking behind her as if Credence is running late. She’s panting as she reaches him, meaning she rushed to get here which has red flags flying in his mind in an instant.

“Where’s Credence?” He demands, struggling to keep the anxiety out of his voice as it builds.

“I-I don’t know. We were sitting in your office, I turned away for one second and he took off,” she explains breathlessly, her words running together in her exhaustion, “I chased him to the lift trying to get him to stop, but he beat me to it and I lost him in the atrium. Before I could make it down he was gone,” she finishes with an apologetic look, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Graves.”

Percy looks away with a low curse. He doesn’t blame Goldstein, not at all. Credence was probably overwhelmed and frightened; he should have been there. He glares bitterly at the group of cuffed wizards sitting on the floor, sorely tempted to issue out his own brand of swift justice for being pulled away from his soulmate. Shaking his head he turns back to Goldstein who looks like someone awaiting the gallows. 

Percy grips her shoulder gently, “It’s fine. It’s not your fault—Stay here with the team and finish collecting information,” he says and swiftly turns to his Aurors with a shout, effectively capturing their attention. 

In a loud, commanding voice he pops off one order after another, requesting that someone fill Goldstein in on everything, finish the interviews, wrap things up and bring the suspects into MACUSA.

Once he ensures that the group can handle things from here without him he thumps Goldstein on the back, saying a brief “thank you” as he hustles to the exit, leaving the bar to head towards one of the approved apparition zones.

As soon as Percy reaches the alley he promptly twists on the spot and disapparates in a swirl of black to the other point a block away from the Woolworth building. He makes it to his office in record time and sends his third Patronus of the day, letting Sera know that he needs to leave and briefly tells her about the investigation, explaining that Goldstein is in charge of the proceedings and that any questions should go through her and Fontaine. He adds that he doesn’t know when he’ll be back but tells her there’s nothing to worry about.

When that’s taken care of he brings his wand up and casts a complex spell that highlights the different magical signatures of an area within the last twenty-four hours, making them visible to the caster. He’s used it before in cases and to familiarize himself with the signatures of those that work around him (makes it easier to track criminals by process of elimination) and quickly locates Credence’s.

Percy flicks his wrist to isolate the signature, a lovely lavender smoke tinted with gold that trails across the room and through the door. There.

Heart in his throat, Percy follows the trail out of the building and to the north-east, swiftly apparating and disapparating through the many designated points as he tracks Credence. It isn’t long before the smoke becomes thicker, nearly tangible as he approaches Columbus Park on foot. 

He’s walking blind within the lavender and gold haze (Percy is astounded at how potent this kid’s magical signature is) so he discreetly ends the spell with a wandless flick, his stomach dipping when the trail clears and he spots his soulmate sitting on a wrought iron bench some twenty feet away.

Percy advances slowly, heartbroken when he notices how the young man has his face buried in his hands. 

He was the cause of this and he feels like such a jackass. If he had just taken the time to think things through Credence wouldn’t be sitting here crying right now. He has to fix this.

With a knot steadily growing in his throat Percy steps up beside the bench and gently announces himself, “Credence?”

Startled, the younger man’s head shoots up and he turns to look at him and—Oh Mercy Lewis, Percy’s expression crumbles when he sees how red the kid’s eyes are. He feels terrible.

“May I sit with you?” Percy softly clears his throat as emotion threatens to take control of his voice.

Credence watches him quietly for a moment, then drops his head to wipe at his eyes before nodding, replying with a low, “Please,” as he slides over to make room for the older man.

With a glance around Percy casts a quick disillusionment charm on them before sitting on the bench, hands clasped together in his lap as he stares unseeing at the people strolling around the park’s walk path.

“I’m sorry,” Credence murmurs after a moment and Percy turns to look at him in surprise.

“Whatever for?”

The younger man shifts a bit, possibly feeling uncomfortable, as he brings his own hands to rest in his lap, “For running away.”

Percy sighs softly, dropping his head, “You don’t need to apologize for that, Credence. After all you’ve learned today I’m sure you must have been frightened.”

“I was,” Credence admits, “When you left I guess I just panicked.”

Something he still feels shitty about. “I don’t know how to express how truly sorry I am to unload all of this on you out of nowhere,” he begins, nervously twiddling his thumbs, “I know this must all be staggering.”

“It’s definitely not what I expected to happen today.”

“What did you expect?” Percy inquires gently.

“It’s silly,” Credence mumbles as he turns his hand over and gasps, “Oh...I-it’s different.”

Percy doesn’t have to look at his own wrist to know that their symbols match. It happens to all bonded pairs once their timers run out—each receiving an identical soulmark. 

His parents share a minimalistic red tulip.

He watches wistfully as the other traces his thumb over the stunning gold Celtic knot of two hearts intersecting, one inverted. 

“You said I was a wizard. Is this how you knew? Because of the timer? Could you see it?” The questions pour out of Credence, the young man turning to gaze at him desperately as Percy’s chest clenches. He would have asked about it eventually.

“Yes. I knew because of the timer,” he replies quietly, “Every witch and wizard has one. It’s something very special in our world.”

“What does it mean?”

Percy can’t begin to imagine just how confused the kid must have felt his whole life not knowing what the timer meant, probably expecting the worst, and his heart aches for him. Percy had the privilege of knowing that one day he would meet his destined, something he’s been excited for his whole life.

“Well,” he lets out a shaky breath as he begins, “Our kind...we each have a perfect match. Another person in the world meant just for us—A soulmate. The timer counts down to when we meet and is replaced by a soulmark once it reaches zero.”

Credence sits there quietly absorbing this new information with awe, staring down at the mark as though it were made of actual gold.

“It’s different now so—“ he licks his lips and Percy can see him putting the pieces together.

“—So, that means I met my soulmate today?” He asks breathlessly, voice coming out just a bit higher.

“Yes. As did I,” Percy confesses timidly, reaching out to unbutton his cuff, sliding both the coat and shirt sleeve up to reveal his own identical soulmark.

When Credence’s gaze falls upon it his eyes widen, bouncing back and forth between their marks for a moment in what Percy imagines is quiet disbelief. To help verify this revelation the older man reaches out to touch his soulmate’s arm, causing a burst of pleasant chills to dance beneath his fingertips. They shiver simultaneously and Percy knows Credence is experiencing the same sensation.

The younger man jerks his head up to look at Percy in shock, mouth agape, “You? W-we? We’re...?”

“We are,” Percy confirms, throat tight as he studies the others reaction, “I know this is a lot to take in. You had no idea what the timer was, did you?”

“No. My whole life no one around me could see it. Except for Modesty, that is.”

“Modesty?”

“My sister. Well, adopted sister. She has one, too.”

That’s alarming information. Not only did Credence slip through the cracks but there’s another? Something has gone terribly wrong for two magical orphans, neither related, to be living in a no-maj household not knowing about their heritage. 

Something about that just doesn’t feel right and it needs to be investigated immediately.

“I—I’m not sure how to feel about all this,” the younger man continues and Percy can feel his stomach drop. What if he’s made the wrong decision by telling Credence all of this? 

What if he loses him because of it? 

Credence must be able to see the distress on the older man’s face because he slowly reaches out to take his hand, leaning forward to look at him.

“This has all been—quite shocking, to be honest,” he says quietly, “but I know one thing. I...feel this connection. This pull towards you, and even though we’ve only just met today I feel like I’ve known you my entire life—“

Credence looks around nervously, like he’s worried that someone will see them, before shyly twinning their fingers together, making Percy’s pulse flutter. 

“Something about this feels...right. This is the first time anything in my life has ever felt that way,” he whispers, staring down at their joined hands with something akin to reverence. 

Now it’s Percy’s turn to speak and he finds he’s just as nervous.

“My timer started when I was sixteen—,” he begins, voice quivering as Credence lifts his head to watch him, “I witnessed it winding. That’s the day I knew my soulmate was born,” his mouth is dry as he swallows but he’s determined to get this out, “I’ve spent eighteen years waiting for you. Eighteen years dreaming about you. Wondering what you were like and eager for the day I’d finally see you—“

Credence’s grip tightens as Percy talks, eyes bright as he listens attentively.

“—and now that I have...I know that you were well worth the wait.” 

Percy also knows that he is 100% unequivocally, irrevocably in love with this man. Hell, he knew that way before they even met, though he hadn’t realized just how smitten he would truly be.

Credence could ask him for literally anything and Percy knows he would do his damndest to move heaven and earth to give him whatever he wanted. That thought should terrify him, but it doesn’t.  
He would do just about anything to make sure his soulmate is happy.

“I’m glad you’re what the timer was counting down to, Percival,” Credence admits softly, and Percy’s heart soars that he used his name. He cracks a smile when he notices how the tips of the younger man’s ears turn red. Mercy Lewis, he’s adorable.

“Just Percy. Please,” he urges, giving Credences hand a squeeze before pausing, noticing how the kid’s palms feel strangely rough and uneven. Curious, Percy turns his hand over and nearly cracks a tooth from how hard he clenches his jaw when he sees the network of scars, some pink and raised—fresh.

Before he can say anything the other snatches his hand back and balls it into a fist against his thigh, instantly paling.

“Credence. What happened to your hand?” Percy asks, the question slipping before he can think about it, and its odd because the voice that comes out of his mouth doesn’t sound like his own. It’s tight and strangled.

The younger man squirms beneath his gaze, eyes plastered to his worn shoes.

Percy is preparing to apologize when Credence says, “C-can we go to a diner or something? I haven’t had lunch yet,” he lifts his head cautiously to look at Percy, almost like he’s expecting a blow. Someone has clearly been abusing his soulmate and that thought has him on the edge of rage. 

Easy old man, he tells himself and inhales deeply.

With a gentle touch and a reassuring smile Percy says, “Absolutely. Let’s get something to eat,” and waves a hand to dismiss the disillusionment charm. When Credence asks about that he explains the charm and what it does, chuckling softly when the younger man’s eyes go wide and he whispers, “You’re like a ninja.”

___________________________________________  
Credence  
* * * * *

After leaving the park Percy guides him to an alley, and when the man sees his confused expression he tells Credence that he needs to send Sera a message. He expects him to pull out a cell phone, because wizards use them right? Why wouldn’t they? Instead he slips out his sleek, black wand and Credence observes with utter fascination as a silvery wisp snakes from the tip to produce (much to Credence’s mingled shock and delight) a bright, silver wolf. It looks like it’s made of pure energy.

He watches in bewilderment as Percy SPEAKS to the wolf, giving the animal his message and (it shouldn’t surprise him, but it does) the wolf nods before trotting off, vanishing before his eyes as it rounds the corner.

Credence turns to look at Percy who is casually tucking his wand away, smiling sheepishly when he sees the younger man’s astonished expression.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re not used to this.”

“What was that?” Credence asks in a tiny voice.

Percy glances down and notices his sleeve is still unbuttoned and reaches out to fix it, “Patronus charm. It’s a powerful defensive spell but it’s also useful at delivering messages.”

“Are they all wolves?” Credence asks curiously, slowly getting flustered as he watches the man adjust his cuff—and why is that getting him all worked up? 

Well, he does have nice hands...

“Mine is. Each patronus is unique to its caster, it’s supposed to be an extension of the soul,” Percy replies, dropping his arms once he’s finished.

“It’s beautiful,” Credence says in awe, still feeling mesmerized by the silvery creature.

Percy stares at him quietly with a soft, exceptionally tender look that makes Credence’s breath catch.

“How about that lunch?” The man prompts a bit breathlessly. 

He swallows hard, “Yes please.”

*

Instead of leaving the alley Percy tells him that there’s a special restaurant he wants to take him to and explains that there’s a way to get there that’s quicker than walking. When Credence asks how, the man explains the magical transportation of “side-along apparation,” before holding out his arm for him to take, warning that it might feel a bit strange.

Perplexed, he reaches out and grasps Percy’s left forearm. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely was not an unsettling tugging sensation behind his navel or the feeling of being spun around rapidly while also being forcefully squeezed through an impossibly narrow tube. The way Percy explained it sounded much more tame. 

This is more than strange. It’s downright ghastly.

There’s an resounding crack as his feet hit solid ground again and Credence nearly collapses, only remaining upright with Percy’s assistance. He turns away, bending to brace his hands against his knees and reflexively dry heaves a few times, too dazed and nauseous to even think about maintaining any dignity.

“Aw, I know sweetheart. It’s always awful the first time,” Percy murmurs in a soothing tone as he rubs gentle circles on his back, leaving a trail of chills.

If he wasn’t so disoriented Credence would devour that term of endearment like a starving man, but as it is—he’ll have to save that for later.

“‘A bit strange’? You didn’t mention anything about being manhandled by a sentient tornado,” he wheezes, still bent at the waist as he collect his bearings. Slowly the queasiness begins to fade.

Percy bursts out laughing and the sound is like music to his ears. Credence notes how the man’s eyes squint and crinkle in his amusement and he’s struck by their earlier conversation at the park.

He has a soulmate and it’s this beautiful man.

Mary Lou would have an aneurysm. It’s been drilled into his head from an early age about sin and hell and how homosexuality is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. Deep down Credence feels like he’s always known his preference leaned towards the masculine sex, and he suspects that she knew, too. It’s probably why she’s so cruel towards him.

But how could something that feels this pure be a sin? How could anyone possibly think those things about a man as enchanting as Percy?

The man with whom he shares a mark with. The man who was at the end of that timer.

Waiting for him his whole life.

The emotion that swells within him has Credence on the verge of tears, and Percy must think that he upset him with his laughter because he quickly stops with a look of concern.

“Oh no, I wasn’t laughing at you,” he insists softly, a frown marring his handsome features as he strokes a hand along Credence’s arm.

He’s able to reign himself in enough to nod, offering the man a reassuring smile, “I know, I-I’m fine. I promise—“

“—Honestly,” he adds when Percy looks entirely unconvinced. 

Credence straightens up with a rushed exhale once his head stops spinning. He blinks rapidly, glancing past the alleyway to examine the area that they’re in. It isn’t familiar. “Where are we?”

“Queens.”

He sputters, nearly choking, “Queens??”

“Magic,” Percy says with a crooked smile.

“Magic,” he repeats dumbly, allowing Percy to take his arm and guide him out of the alley.

They come out between a laundromat and a cozy looking inn—it’s the latter that the man directs him to, ascending the stairs and holding the door open for Credence. When they enter the first thing he notices is the roaring fire within a massive stone hearth, the pleasant heat rushing to meet them as they leave the biting New York cold at the door.

There’s people sitting on sofas and armchairs throughout the lobby—some reading books or newspapers while others converse cheerfully amongst themselves. The floor is hardwood, worn beautifully with age, and the walls are painted a gorgeous burgundy. It’s a very warm, inviting atmosphere that makes Credence feel surprisingly at ease.

Percy approaches an elderly woman with a long white braid standing behind a counter (that’s suspiciously clear). Behind her is a colorful medieval tapestry depicting a sleeping maiden with a massive white dragon curled around her protectively. It’s absolutely stunning.

The older man nods politely when she greets them.

Credence watches Percy subtly pull one side of his coat back to flash his wand before leaning forward to quietly say, “I’ve lost my chocolate frog.”

Baffled upon hearing this phrase Credence turns to look at the woman who smiles a bit wider, shooting Percy a wink, “I think I might know where it went,” she announces before gesturing for them to come around the counter as she draws the tapestry back, revealing a hidden room.

Following the man inside, Credence quietly thanks the receptionist, who smiles sweetly. As he’s turning back he stops in his tracks, confused.

The room they’re in is small and empty with a large floor-to-ceiling mirror taking up the entire wall directly in front of them. It wouldn’t be so strange if there were at least furniture, but there is absolutely nothing in here. This isn’t the restaurant, obviously.

Percy turns to Credence with an exasperated sigh, “I don’t know who comes up with those passwords, but they change once a month and they’re always ridiculous,” he says with a chuckle before turning to face the mirror, striding forward to press his hand to the reflective surface.

Credence watches in wonder as the mirror begins to ripple gently, their reflections warping with each wave until the glass slowly morphs into a busy, moving city scape. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s real. What’s more is that Percy just stepped forward like there was no mirror there to begin with. 

“Magic,” Percy turns back to look at him, and this time his expression is fondly proud instead of sheepish, a broad smile on his face as he waves a hand towards the bustling street behind him.

“Welcome to our world, Credence.”

*

Dragon Street, Percy tells him, is a wizarding shopping distract hidden from the no-maj by what must be some seriously complex magic. It goes on for blocks with numerous shops selling everything from clothing, exotic animals, (flying!?) brooms, potions, wands, spell books and every other thing Credence imagines a witch or wizard might need.

He walks on wooden legs as Percy shyly loops their arms together and casually strolls down the sidewalk, stealing glances at the younger man as they make their way to the restaurant.

“Okay? Not too much?” The older man asks with gentle concern, deep brown eyes studying his face, surely looking for any pre-fainting warning signs.

Credence’s wide gaze bounces everywhere, hungrily trying to take everything in all at once. He wants to go into every shop and HOLY CRAP SOMEONE IS FLYING ON A BROOM!

“This is...I don’t have the words to describe how incredible this is,” he states breathlessly, enraptured as he watches the man perform aerial stunts high above the ground, whizzing about at an astonishing speed. Credence shoots his hand out to grasp Percy’s when the wizard suddenly does a nosedive, mere feet from the ground when he pulls up to spin.

There’s a sort of exhilaration that pumps through him as he watches the man’s antics, a bright grin blooming on his flushed face as his breathing stutters. That’s when he turns to look at Percy.

The man is gazing at him so openly—with such a soft, adoring expression that looks positively lovesick it causes Credence’s heart to pound. 

“C’mon,” Percy says with a warm smile, “Carmen’s is this way,” before he laces their fingers together and guides the younger man across the street.

Each time their skin slides it creates fireworks of tingles along his palm and it’s one of the most delightful sensations that he’s ever experienced. Credence is shocked when his mind offers up the question of if those tingles might occur everywhere that Percy touches. 

Flustered by his own brazen thought he swiftly banishes it, chewing anxiously on the inside of his cheek as his brain traitorously urges him to find out.

*

Carmen’s Diner, as it turns out is a quaint little place that serves classic American cuisine—using magic.

The scene they wander into has him vibrating with excitement. It’s definitely a traditional style diner with the cooks working behind an open counter, but they’re using wands to cook everything. The witches and wizards put on quite the show as they send various ingredients dancing through the air.

Percy draws him from his eager observation by asking Credence to pick a booth for them, so he chooses one to the right in the corner. When he sits down on the cushy bench he’s delighted to see the older man slide in beside him instead of sitting across—like he wants to be as close to Credence as possible. He’s absolutely okay with this, even scrapping up the courage to press against him. The result has Percy melting like butter into his shoulder. He thinks he could definitely get addicted to this.

When one of those short creatures suddenly appears at the end of their booth out of nowhere Credence jolts hard, busting his knee against the underside of the table, immediately feeling guilty when it’s large go even wider.

“Poppy is terribly sorry for startling you, sir!” The creature squeaks in a high-pitched voice, “She didn’t mean it, honest!”—Poppy cries, crinkling the menus she’s holding with a distressed expression.

“That’s alright Poppy, my friend here just spooks easy. No need to worry, dear,” Percy tells her in a reassuring tone, soothing the small humanoid.

“Sir is so nice!” Poppy chirps sweetly before setting their menus on the table, “It would please Poppy to inform you that today’s special is a grilled chicken sandwich served on a fresh pretzel bun with your choice of fries or potato wedges!” She bounces excitedly, the tie of her crisp uniform flapping along enthusiastically, “May Poppy request your drinks?”

Percy smiles, “Coffee for me, black.”

“Sweet tea?” Credence croaks, clearing his throat.

Poppy beams before snapping her fingers. A steaming mug and a frosty glass appears before them, and he just barely manages to prevent himself from spazzing again.

“Do the sirs need a moment to look at the menu?”

“Yes please, thank you so much Poppy,” Percy replies kindly, reaching for his coffee.

Poppy spins in a circle and claps her hands, “Certainly! Sir is so polite!” She squeals before vanishing, only to reappear a second later looking as if she’d just committed murder, “Oh! Poppy is so very sorry, she forgot about Sir’s delicate disposition!” The small creature bows repeatedly and walks away this time instead of poofing.

Percy chuckles, “I apologize, I should have warned you that house-elves have a tendency to show up rather unexpectedly.”

“House-elf?” Credence asks curiously as he lifts his glass of tea and takes a sip.

The older man does the same with his mug, “Very powerful magical creatures that usually serve older wizarding families, though it’s more like slavery,” Percy tells him bitterly.

“Most times they’re treated poorly, but many places around the world have made it possible for them to be free and take jobs that actually pay them. I’m still working with a consultant of mine to get that implemented at MACUSA,” he takes another sip before setting the mug down. “Strange to be so progressive with the laws—allowing free elves throughout the states yet still keeping enslaved ones—doesn’t make much sense,” he comments darkly, furrowing his brow.

“No, that doesn’t make any sense,” Credence agrees, setting his glass down, “Is that why the ones at...uh, MACUSA—“

“Yes,” Percy murmurs, “They can only be freed when their “master” presents them with clothing.”

Credence watches a bead of condensation build and roll down his glass, “That’s awful.”

The older man nods, “It is,” he replies before reaching for his menu, in so doing reminding Credence why they’re here again.

They sit together in comfortable silence for a while, Percy’s body warm against his. He scans the menu and spots chicken fried steak, thinking that sounds good before he searches for a price, confused to see a strange symbol in place of a dollar sign.

“Percy?”

“Yes?” The man asks as he flips a page in the menu.

When Credence points out the symbol, what looks like an uppercase D with a line running through it, the older man leans in with a hum.

“That stands for dragot. We use a different form of currency here in the wizarding world.”

Different currency? Oh no.

“I-I...”

Percy can clearly predict what he’s about to say because he touches Credence’s shoulder, urging the man to look at him, “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got this—my treat,” he insists, rushing to reassure him as he stutters out an objection.

“Truly. It’s the least I can do, considering what you’ve been through today.”

Credence stares at him, mouth opening and closing.  
“Uh, o-okay,” he squeaks, turning to mush beneath those dark eyes, “Thank you.”

“No, thank YOU. You’re the one doing me a favor,” Percy coos with a flirtatious wink and—Ohhh.

Could his heart beat any faster?

___________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

It shouldn’t amuse him—because really, it’s a sad situation that Credence knows zilch about the wizarding world and that still pisses him the fuck off and will probably continue to do so for many years to come—but Percy struggles not to laugh every time the kid gets startled by magic. It’s such an explosive reaction followed by a child-like sense of wonder that has Percy feeling both anxious for Credence and tremendously smitten.

Like how after Poppy returned to take their orders and then their food later appeared in front of them without any warning.

His soulmate jumped nearly a foot in the booth and his hand shot out to grab Percy’s arm—seeking comfort, he suspects—which he was more than willing to provide. Each time this happened it would stir up that pleasing ripple, and by the time they finished their lunch he was a trembling mess. 

Percy had no idea how intense the soulbond would be—The touches, their intangible connection to one another, and the practically consuming urge to be close to Credence at all times.

There’s also this new protective impulse he seemed to develop when the bond set. Percy’s naturally protective, it’s in his nature as both a Graves and as an Auror, one that he’s known his entire life.

But this?

Each time he catches a glimpse of Credence’s palms he bristles and something within him roars to life in a furious storm. When the younger man notices him staring at his scars, Percy apologizes for being rude but is surprised when his soulmate shows his hands and whispers, “I think I’m ready to talk about it now,” before glancing around the diner nervously, “Is there a private place we can talk?”

“We could go to my townhouse,” Percy suggests, adding with a timid chuckle, “Don’t worry. No funny business—You have my word.”

Credence ducks his head, ears lighting up, “It’s okay Percy, I trust you.”

The influx of emotions this statement manifests within him is palpable, making it just the tiniest bit difficult to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“Okay,” he manages to say without it sounding strangled, his pulse fluttering wildly.

When Poppy dances back to their table with the check Percy gives her a generous tip, insisting that she deserves it for her outstanding service as the house-elf starts to loudly protest. What truly convinced her is when Credence shyly perks up to praise her for being the best server he’s ever had. Poppy promptly begins to sob and his heart clenches as he watches the young man reaches out to pull her into a gentle embrace, assuring her that it’s alright and that she deserves it.

After she responds by tearfully kissing their shoes (“Oh no, Poppy that’s not necessary”—“Poppy must show her gratitude! Sirs have been so awfully kind to her! Such kind, generous wizards!”) Percy pays for their meal and they leave Carmen’s Diner, slowly joining hands as they cross the threshold.

When Credence glances about wistfully as they head back towards the inn he’s almost tempted to tell him that they can have this discussion later, but then he remembers the webbing of scars and the roaring fury rises again. He needs to know.

“I’ll bring you back soon and we can go into every single shop, if you’d like,” he promises softly, ecstatic when Credence nods eagerly with a bright expression. The thought of bringing Credence back here—of there BEING future plans and outings...

It’s nearly too much. Percy ducks his head with a chuckle to hide the tears welling up in his eyes.

Their meeting today might have started out as a disaster, and he’s certain that he’s about to learn information that’s going to make his blood boil, but this? Here and now? This perfect man shyly holding his hand as they walk? The faint shimmer of gold every time Credence’s small coat sleeve slides up and the sunlight catches his mark just right? The indescribably divine sensation that sparks between them as their skin brushes?

This is infinitely more perfect than Percy could have ever imagined. He meant what he said when he told Credence that the wait was worth it.

He’d eagerly wait another eighteen years for him.

*

Percy decides against apparating to get to his brownstone, not too keen on putting Credence through that again so soon, especially after just eating. Instead they travel the no-maj way by catching a bus from Queens to Manhattan, which Credence insists upon paying, baffling Percy when he pulls the no-maj currency from his right sock to pay the fare. The younger man shrugged abashedly at the man’s bemused expression, quietly offering the explanation that it’s convenient for him.

Percy suspects there’s a reason for this behavior but he doesn’t question it, just nodded and followed Credence to take a seat. It’s painfully slow, taking over an hour and a half to reach their destination.

Seriously, how do they function without magic?

They spend their journey conversing amongst themselves, and though he would have loved nothing more than to hold his soulmate’s hand for the duration of the trip, he knew better. 

Even though New York is regarded as one of the most “Gay Friendly” cities in the United States, the no-maj are a backwards breed and you never know when you might cross one that has a problem with it. Percy would really hate to have to hex one today.

Credence must think the same thing because he doesn’t try to take his hand or lean against him, content with his arms wrapped loosely around himself beneath that dreadfully thin coat that Percy is desperate to replace.

As they talk he learns more about Credence. How he’s adopted, though he shies away from that topic, (or anything about his home life) when Percy asks. Being an Auror it’s his job to read between the lines, and it’s the things his soulmate doesn’t say that speaks volumes. He’s willing to bet every dragot in his vault that Credence received those scars at home. That only feeds the beast within him and he’s stunned to see that it’s thirsty for blood.

For the younger man’s comfort he doesn’t push, instead changing the topic to the coffee house, asking how Credence enjoys it while benevolently leaving out the questions he really wished to ask.

His soulmate lights up, explaining that though it can be tiring he enjoys what he does, going on to talk about his boss Angela and his friendly coworkers. Percy sits back with his arms crossed and a fond smile, listening to Credence weave riveting tales about his many customer interactions. 

He’s nearly wheezing from laughter when the young man gestures energetically with his arms as he recounts the time an inebriated middle-aged woman came into their shop at ten in the morning and tried to order a Long Island iced tea before falling asleep ON the pick-up counter. They had to call the police to come wake her and when she finally returned to consciousness she asked them if they would drive her to the liquor store.

In return Percy tells him about his job, of course changing certain words considering their current audience. He tells Credence how he he went into the “police academy” fresh out of school and trained for three years before being hired on at  
“the station.” He talks about his parents, how his father is retired from the very position he now holds, and how his mother breeds a “special type of cat,” (“I’ll tell you more about that later,” Percy had ensured with a wink) going on to inform the younger man that they would absolutely adore him. 

This makes the kid flush a lovely shade of red, delighting Percy when he says that he would like to meet them one day. “Then you will,” he promises.

By the time the bus pulls into their designated stop, Percy and Credence exit it knowing each other a little better than they did at noon. He’s entirely besotted. Based on the sweet smiles and stolen glances from his soulmate, he dares to think that Credence just might be as well. Oh, how Percy hopes that he’s right.

* 

Thankfully the bus stop is only a five minute walk to his townhouse, so Percy and Credence walk the rest of the way, with the older man casting a subtle Notice-Me-Not charm so he can tell his soulmate about that “special cat breed.” This results in the sprouting of an entirely new conversation about magical creatures with Percy informing him that he has a friend he’ll introduce the younger man to who works with beasts. 

He adores the excited smile this earns him.

When they get to the brownstone Percy reaches out to grasp the knob, the wards in place responding to his magical signature and allowing entrance. They pass through and into the warm foyer, Percy slipping out of his long coat to hand it to the enchanted standing rack, encouraging Credence to do the same. He has to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing at the gobsmacked look on the younger man’s face when the rack snatches it.

“This is so cool,” Credence whispers, examining the stand closely.

Percy leads him down the hall towards the kitchen, turning back to glance at him with a smile as they walk, “I’ll show you the mirror in my bathroom, that might change your mind,” he says, flicking his wrist to switch the lights on, “It’s incredibly rude.”

The brownstone was built in the 1930’s and has been renovated throughout the years, at least twice to his knowledge. It was in great shape, owned by an elderly no-maj couple who decided to move upstate (very lovely, those two) but it was terribly outdated. Before he had it renovated there was ugly green patterned wallpaper in every room and creaky floorboards. Now the floors are a cherry hardwood, polished, shining, and blessed quiet. The bathrooms and kitchen have all modern appliances, tweaked with magic to cater to a wizard household.

The walls are painted pacific blue, not a scrap of wallpaper in sight, with various decorations and moving paintings. The kitchen, living room, and dining room are on the first floor, with the master bedroom, two spare rooms and the study on the second. The “Graves Portraits” reside in the study where Percy has spent many evenings at his desk working and chatting with his past relatives as well as being hounded about his soulmate (“I told you, Aunt Caroline I can’t make the timer move any faster. Believe me, I checked”).

“The mirror can talk?” Credence questions with wide, mystified eyes. He follows him into the kitchen where Percy waves a hand to get a kettle on the stove.

“Oh yes, and it has a very foul mouth. Tea?”

“Yes please,” Credence replies, hovering near Percy as they man uses magic to set everything up.

“Will I be able to do magic?” He asks after a moment, sounding hopeful.

“That’s something I’d like to speak with you about, actually, “Percy replies, stepping from the counter once the kettle is on the stove and gesturing for the young man to follow him out of the kitchen.

While the water heats up for tea they go into the living room, sitting close together on the sofa 

“You didn’t know about magic until today. I’m assuming you grew up in a no-maj household?” Percy asks, leaning back in his seat.

“Yes. I was adopted as an infant,” Credence tells him while nervously fidgeting, “My...the woman who adopted me couldn’t see the timer.”

Percy stares at the kid’s hands where they rest clasped together in his lap, “When you were eleven did someone come to your house? They should have have had a letter for you.”

“I remember a woman...she did have a letter, but I never read it,” he replies, shaking his head.

“Your adoptive mother took it?”

Credence nods, eyes taking on a distant haze as he wrings his hands together tightly.

Percy suspects something happened that day.  
The woman kept the letter from him, and important connection that would have brought Credence into the world he belongs in instead of him discovering it seven years later from his soulmate.

“What was in the letter?,” Credence asks quietly.

With a sigh Percy closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. “Your invitation to Ilvermorny. A wizarding school.”

“That explains why I never saw it,” the younger man murmurs sadly.

Percy listens quietly as Credence reveals his history. How his mother, Mary Lou Barebone, runs that fanatical church on Pike Street—The New Salem Philanthropic Society. MACUSA is aware of their cause and has had them on their radar for years now, but they’ve always only spread their message through meetings held on the steps of businesses and anti-witchcraft propaganda in the form of pamphlets. The church has never attempted to expose the wizarding world and their threat level is so low they don’t even have a proper case file.

The fact that the leader of the New Salmers has two magical individuals under her roof is beyond alarming. This should have never been allowed.

After Credence tells him this he goes on to explain that not only is she controlling, but she abuses them as well. Percy silently rages when the young man unclasps his hands and shows his palms, explaining his “punishments.” A belt created those scars.

His own fucking belt.

He breaks and pulls the younger man into his arms when he starts to cry, rubbing a hand in soothing circles on his back.

“Are you still living there?” Percy asks in a tight voice, his jaw clenched.

“I-I can’t leave my sisters behind. I can’t leave them with her,” he chokes out, gripping the front of Percy’s suit jacket, “T-that’s why I got that job without her knowing. I’ve been t-trying to save money to g-get us out.”

Sobs wrack the young man and he buries his face in Percy’s shoulder. The older man tightens his hold.

“You can’t stay there, Credence. You or Modesty,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to cradle the back of Credence’s neck, “I can get you two out, but I don’t know about your other sister. If she’s a no-maj there isn’t much that I can do.” It’s the sad reality of it.

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Credence weeps in despair, body shaking as he voices a lifetime worth of pain. Percy can feel his heart breaking with each sob.

This should have never happened.

“Sh-h-h, it’s okay sweetheart. I’ll figure something out,” he whispers as Credence falls apart against him, “We’re going to get your sisters out, I promise.”

It’s going to be difficult. Percy could take Credence and Modesty away from that church in an instant, but Chastity? Her being a no-maj means that his hands are practically tied. The most he can do is alert their authorities about child abuse, but even then those things can be covered up. 

A shrill whistle from the kitchen makes them both jump. Percy pats the younger man’s back in reassurance before he leaves the living room to take the kettle off the stove and make them tea. Placing two mugs, a sugar bowl and stirrers on a tray he gets the tea steeping and carries the setup back.

Credence is hunched over, sniffling softly and the sight crushes him. He sets the tray down on the coffee table in front of them and sits, reaching out to take his soulmate’s hand, lacing their fingers together when the younger man allows it.

“Credence, I’m so sorry. You should have been in our world a long time ago,” Percy apologizes with a heavy heart, “We’re going to fix this.”

“Will I learn magic?” He asks softly, leaning to rest his head on the older man’s shoulder.

Percy makes a pleased humming noise at the action. “Yes, even if I have to teach you myself.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” his soulmate mumbles.

Percy chuckles softly, daring to turn and press a kiss to the top of his soulmate’s head. The result is a shiver that resonates between them—that pleasant sensation rippling along the skin of his lips.

Credence shivers, “Why does that happen?” 

“I’m not sure, to be honest. It has to do with our bond,” he says, combing his fingers through soft hair.

His soulmate snuggles closer, “I like it.”

“Me too,” Percy whispers, basking in the contact.

The younger man lifts his head, turning to shyly gaze at Percy. There’s a gorgeous flush on his cheeks, trailing down to the pale skin of his neck and Percy would really like to know how far it goes.

“Percy?”

“Hmm?” 

“Y-you said that a soulmate is a perfect match,” Credence begins nervously and Percy can feel how he fidgets, “Do they stay together forever?”

“Almost always,” Percy murmurs, heart fluttering, “A soulbond is very powerful—A force that draws two people together and over time you become attuned to one another. It’s incredibly rare for a bonded couple to separate.” Nearly unheard of.

Credence nods, breathing out shakily, “So you can feel these...I don’t know how to describe it...” He gestures vaguely with his hands.

“I know exactly what you’re talking about. Yes, I can feel the pull too.”

The urge to be close. That unconditional love for your soulmate. It feels like the world is in shades of grey and your mate is the only one in color.

It’s powerful. 

Swallowing hard, Percy hesitantly reaches his hand out to cup a cheek. “Is this okay?” he whispers, slowly stroking his thumb along the warm skin. Credence’s eyes flutter shut, lips parting.

“That’s nice,” the other replies breathlessly, leaning into the charged touch.

Percy’s own eyes drift closed as he savors this intimacy. He leans forward, pressing their foreheads together and breathes in Credence’s scent. It should be foreign to him but there’s something so familiar about it, mingled with the faintest trace of coffee beans and it’s tremendously enticing to him.

They’ve only just met, but as Credence said earlier, it feels like Percy has known him forever. His soul recognizes its mate, making it impossible to be strangers.

Licking his lips he starts to ask, “May I kiss y—“ 

“Please,” Credence cuts in with a whisper.

Lifting his other hand to touch Credence’s neck, Percy tilts his head and leans in to press their lips together. The resulting spark of sensation that passes between them is so intense that a gasp escapes his throat and the other responds with a soft, sympathetic whimper. He slides the hand on Credence’s cheek up and through his dark hair, fingertips gently grazing against the his scalp.

The kiss starts out slow and tender as Percy leads it, adjusting his posture to press closer. Their mouths glide together—a tingling brush of soft skin that ignites heat within him.

Credence trembles beneath his touch, reaching out to place his hands on the older man’s waist. The multiple points of stimulation takes Percy’s breath away. With a groan he deepens the kiss, seeking permission from his soulmate with the tip of his tongue. Credence submits, parting his lips in an invitation that he eagerly accepts.

Percy dips in, stroking their tongues together in a teasing manner as he licks deeply into the hot, wet hollow of Credence’s mouth. A gasp precedes the grip at his waist tightening, fingertips gradually pressing into the fabric of his suit, and he feels the younger man tug at him to come.

Moaning low in his throat Percy follows his soulmate, moving forward as Credence lies back against the armrest, leaning over him. He’s careful not to put too much weight against the younger man and a thrill shoots through him when the other unfolds his leg, causing their bodies to slot together.

The kiss grows hungrier with an intensity that has them both flushed and heated. Credence reaches up to wrap his arms around Percy’s back while the older man places a hand against the other’s chest. 

He can feel his soulmate’s heart beat rapidly beneath his palm, possibly matching his own in tempo. He’s the first to pull back, gasping softly to catch his breath, until that flushed neck seduces him. Percy moves to trail kisses from Credence’s jaw to the edge of his collar, dismayed when the path of skin ends before he works his way back up.

“Percy,” Credence murmurs as soft as a prayer, tilting his head back to allow better access, which Percy happily takes full advantage of.

Running a hand up Credence’s neck to join in the worship, Percy pours his soul into lavishing the soft skin with his lips and tongue, relishing the way his soulmate squirms beneath him. The bond feedback ricochets between every touch, creating a delicious full body euphoria that rivals anything he’s ever felt before. 

They echo their pleasure at the sensation, both releasing soft moans and sighs as Percy pulls back from Credence’s neck to dive back in for another passionate kiss. The younger man begins to explore with his hands, sliding them across Percy’s back, up his sides and down his arms, fingertips digging in softly as they map along his suit.

When they break for air again Credence shifts his hips and Percy chokes on a groan, feeling the impact of their heated kissing against his own groin.

Resisting the urge to grind down Percy rests his forehead against the younger man’s shoulder and pants softly. As much as he would love to take this further, it isn’t the best time. Not after meeting for the first time today, dragging Credence into a world he didn’t even know existed, and learning the sad truth of what his soulmate has been through.

It will have to wait for now.

Percy reluctantly pushes himself up to sit back on his legs and the sight before him sends a bolt of desire blazing down to pool in his stomach.

Credence gazes back through half-lidded, nearly black eyes with lips red and kiss-swollen. His short hair is a ruffled mess and the skin of his face and neck bear an enticing flush, one that he still wishes to track lower. A tempting picture of debauchery.

“That was one hell of a first kiss,” Credence pants, darting his tongue out to lick his lips and Percy can’t help but follow the movement with his eyes.

Percy chuckles breathlessly, “You’ve got that right.” He agrees as he sits properly on the couch, still angled towards the other.

“I think the tea went cold,” Credence shyly points out as he fidgets with the hen of his shirt.

“We may have gotten a bit distracted,” Percy murmurs sheepishly, waving his hand over the mugs with a wandless spell to heat them again, steam billowing up instantly.

“That’s convenient,” Credence says in wonder, reaching out to take add sugar to one of the mugs.

Percy copies the action, stirring his drink before lifting the rim to his mouth for a sip, “Magic definitely makes things easier.”

As the younger man sips his tea he glances out the window at the darkening sky with a distressed expression, turning back to drop his gaze when he notices Percy watching him.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses quietly.  
“It’s too late to go home, Mary Lou will...” he trails off and Percy’s stomach clenches.

“Credence, you can’t go back there,” he states, placing his mug down on the tray, “I’ll do everything that I can to get your sisters out, but you can’t go back to that church.”

“I have nowhere to stay,” Credence whispers so brokenly that Percy starts to feel distressed himself.

“I have two guest rooms. You can stay in one of them, or if you’re uncomfortable staying here I can put you up in a hotel. Just, please...don’t go back,” Percy pleads, reaching out to take Credence’s hand.

He can’t stand the thought of his soulmate being under the same roof as that woman, knowing what she’s done to him. What she’ll DO to him. 

“I’ll stay,” the younger man whispers and gives Percy’s hand a gentle squeeze, which he returns.

Relief washes through him and he closes his eyes, “Wonderful. I’ll get you set up in one of the rooms.”

Credence turns to look at him with an open, vulnerable expression, “Thank you, Percy.”

He gently runs his thumb along the other man’s knuckle, offering him a tender smile.

“It’s the least I can do, sweetheart.” He leans over to place a soft kiss against his soulmate’s temple and his heart soars when the younger man leans against him, dropping his head on Percy’s shoulder.

Tonight Credence will have a safe place to stay, away from that New Salmer bitch. Percy will make sure she can never hurt him again even if he has to do something about it himself, statute be damned.

She’ll never lay a finger on his soulmate again.

That’s a promise.

*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Nice long chapter to make up for it <3

Credence  
* * * * *

After they finish their tea Percy asks him if he’s hungry, going to the kitchen to make sandwiches when he shyly says yes. They sit at the dining table and eat the little triangles (he actually cut them into triangles and Credence can’t get over how adorable this man is) while his soulmate tells him all about the different ways magic is used and how he’s going to take them to a wand shop for Credence to get his first wand as soon as he’s registered at MACUSA.

He sits there listening quietly in wonder as Percy further reveals the life that awaits him. Just this morning he was sitting beside Modesty on her bed saying what he thought might be his last goodbye and now he’s sitting here eating sandwiches with a man that can do magic. One that’s also bonded to him.

It should be unbelievable. This is a dream, right? Because it feels like one. 

As it gets late Credence tells Percy that he has to be at work at eleven in the morning. He has a feeling that will change eventually but he still has a job and he still has to be responsible. The older man is quiet for a moment before he sends their empty plates to the sink where Credence watches as they wash themselves. 

“Okay,” Percy says, rising from the table, “If you don’t mind I’d like for you to come with me to MACUSA in the morning so I can get a file started. You can go to work from there, how does that sound?”

He stands as well, sliding the chair back under the table, “Sure. That works.”

Maybe this time he won’t freak out.

Percy takes him on a quick tour of the house, showing him each room and chuckling when Credence points out the moving paintings. Apparently the pictures in their newspaper and magazines do as well but what really surprises him is when the portraits in the study speak to him. A woman with pinned grey hair dressed in Victorian fashion hollers at him to come closer and Percy sighs.

“Percival, who is this young man?” She inquires, leaning forward in her frame with a curious expression.

The rotund man with a thick mustache in the portrait next to her squints as he examines Credence, eyes widening in delight when he spots the golden soulmark on the younger man’s wrist.

“Well I’ll be...it would seem Percival’s finally met his destined,” he announces, adjusting his spectacles.

They both flinch when the woman lets out an excited squeal, waving excitedly for Credence to step closer.

“Oh! Let me have a good look at you, young man.”

“Aunt Caroline,” Percy mumbles, “Please.”

“Oh hush, you,” she replies, looking the other man up and down, “He’s a handsome one, isn’t he?” She appraises with with a smile.

Credence sputters with a blush, not used to such compliments, “I—uh, thank you ma’am.”

“Just imagine how beautiful their children will be,” Aunt Caroline coos, clasping her hands together.

“C-children?” Credence turns his wide eyes to his soulmate.

“I think that’s a conversation for another day.” Percy mutters as his face flushes red, swiftly guiding the younger man from the study and down the hall, much to the displeasure of the painted relatives.

“Wha—but men can’t have children?”

“They can in the wizarding world,” Percy explains shyly as he opens a door to one of the guest bedrooms, “But don’t worry about that right now.”

Credence isn’t worried so much as he is unnervingly intrigued. He never knew such a thing could be possible.

The room Percy shows him is elegantly furnished with a large rustic canopy bed, massive dresser and matching bedside tables. Whites, browns, and blues make up the color scheme and it’s such an open, welcoming environment that Credence instantly adore it.

“You can stay in here,” he says before leading Credence further down the hall to tap on a door at the end, “This is the bathroom. I’ll get you something to wear for tonight and you can take a shower if you’d like.

The older man opens a door beside the guest room and steps in. It’s just as beautifully furnished as the other, although this one looks lived in. Percy’s room, he thinks feverishly. Credence watches from the doorway as the man roots around in a drawer, pulling out a folded set of clothing that he believes to be pajamas. His eyes drift to the large bed, a beautiful black and gold comforter made neatly on top, and he swallows hard at the image of Percy sleeping there.

“These should work.” He’s drawn from his reverie as the man holds out the striped pajamas for him.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, taking them from Percy with a shy smile.

His soulmate shuffles awkwardly before pointing to the stairs, “I’ll just—leave you to that then. Towels are in the linen closet behind the bathroom door,” he murmurs with a nod before turning on his heel to walk back down the hallway.

Credence wistfully watches him descend, clutching the pajamas to his chest. They’re smooth and silky, easily one of the most luxurious things he’s ever touched, and he can’t resist the urge to bury his nose in the fabric and inhale deeply. It’s a fresh, clean scent; the same one he noticed earlier when he pressed his face against Percy’s shoulder while he cried.

It’s a comforting smell, only missing the spice of the man’s cologne and the warm musk of his skin, but the sweet linen alone is enough to sooth him. After a moment he sheepishly realizes that he’s been standing there in the hall sniffing Percy’s laundry like a creep and quickly hustles to the bathroom, setting the clothing on the sink before closing the door behind him. 

Credence pulls a towel from the closet and places it on top of the pajamas before turning to draw the white shower curtain aside to fiddle with the knobs. Thankfully it’s a normal set up and not something that operates with magic (like he thought it would) and soon enough he has the bathroom filling with steam while he undresses.

He releases a sigh when he steps under the spray, allowing the hot water to flow over him as he closes his eyes and reflects on everything that happened today. Reaching for a bottle of shampoo he thinks about his sisters and the promise Percy made to help him get them out. He knows that Modesty is probably worried sick about him and the thought makes him feel terrible, but if he went back Mary Lou would have known about the secret job and there’s no telling what she would have done to him.

Lathering his short hair he thinks about this new world that has found him. How he’s bound to another man, one that’s kind and handsome. A man that looks at him as if he hung the stars and moon in the night sky. Like he’s a rare treasure...and he’s never been gazed at in such a way before.

The bubbles trickle down his skin as he remembers all that he’s seen, from the mind-blowing discovery of what resides inside the Woolworth building to the magnificent wizarding market hidden in Queens.

Are there other places like this in the world? He’s eager to find out.

While bathing he thinks about the fact that he’s capable of magic and delves deep into his memories for the evidence. There was that one occurrence where Mary Lou accused him of doing something that he hadn’t and he can remember how all of the lightbulbs in the church exploded when he screamed back at her. At the time he chalked it up to coincidence, but after Percy explained magic manifestation in children...is it possible that was him? She did react strongly to it and this wasn’t long after the woman brought the letter.

He rinses, staring at the gold soulmark in quiet fascination as droplets race over it. Such a strange, beautiful thing that only one other person shares with him. Credence has to brace himself on the white tiles as everything hits him all at once. 

The meeting, Woolworth, the soulmark, Dragon street, the kiss. 

With a soft sob he slides down the wall until he’s sitting at the bottom of the tub, arms wrapped around his knees and face pressed against them.

It’s not that he’s upset by any of it. He’s more overwhelmed than anything.

Everything is about to change and he doesn’t know what to think about it. He can get his sisters away from Mary Lou and he can begin his life. He can finally be happy and he doesn’t know how to feel.

A soft knock at the door makes him jump and he quickly pulls himself back together when he hears Percy’s muffled voice ask if everything’s okay.

“Y-yeah, I’ll be out soon.”

“No need to rush, just checking on you. Take your time,” Percy calls back before telling him that he’ll be in the living room for a while.

With a sigh Credence pulls himself up by the grab bar and leans against it. He’s been in here for nearly thirty minutes and the water hasn’t gone cold yet.

Magic, he suspects.

Twisting the knob to stop the flow he draws the curtain aside and reaches for the fluffy towel, pressing his face into the plush material and savoring how soft and fresh it is. He dries off, ruffling his hair until it’s damp, and carefully steps from the shower to get dressed.

He nearly cries at how nice the pajamas feel against his skin, a pleasant slide of silk that tops any other material he’s ever felt before. They’re a bit big on him, especially in the shoulders, which is understandable considering they’re Percy’s. The thought that he’s wearing the man’s clothes suddenly ignites something possessive within him and he’s taken aback by its intensity. It’s such a foreign emotion that steals his breath away that he has to take a moment to close his eyes and breathe.

It’s okay, Credence tells himself, to feel this way about his soulmate. 

After several minutes of deep breathing he straightens up and glances at himself in the mirror. Thankfully this one doesn’t talk to him so he’s assuming it’s the one in Percy’s bathroom that does. Mirrors that talk. Coat rakes that move. 

He hopes the toilet doesn’t try to do anything if he needs to use it later.

Once he’s draped the towel along the shower rod Credence switches the light off and exits the bathroom. The hallway is still lit as he pulls the door shut behind him and walks towards the stairs. It’s quiet in the house save for a light crackling noise and the soft taps of his bare feet on the hardwood as he descends the steps. When he reaches the bottom Credence walks to the living room and pauses, swallowing hard as he examines Percy’s enticing state of undress.

The man is sitting in the wingback armchair near the fireplace, which has been lit in his absence, sans suit jacket while he sips from a whiskey tumbler. He still has his waistcoat on, although it’s been unbuttoned to reveal his pristine white button up underneath. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing shapely forearms with a light dusting of dark hair. His navy blue tie has been loosened and the top button of his shirt collar is undone. It’s such a tantalizing sight that Credence can’t control the whimper that escapes him.

Percy’s head shoots up at the noise, his lips parting and eyes going dark when he spots Credence in the doorway. A shiver runs down his spine at the heated gaze fixed upon him.

“Does it fit alright?” The man asks in a rough voice.

Credence ducks his head to hide his flushed face, “Yeah, it’s really comfortable. Thank you.”

“Good. You’re welcome.” The older man throws back the rest of his drink and sets the glass down on the coffee table as he rises from the chair to move to the sofa, patting the spot next to him with an inviting smile as he sits.

He joins Percy on the sofa, the older man wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and they talk more about MACUSA and what happens there. Embarrassed, Credence tells him how he thought Red was a demon and the man bursts into a genuine laughing fit before explaining that Red is a goblin with no intention of eating his soul.

They discuss more magic and Credence is shocked when Percy pulls his wand out and offers it to him handle-first. He stares at it dumbly, as if the man has just presented a gun.

“It’s alright, take it.”

“But what if I—“ He asks skeptically.

Percy shakes his head. “The worst thing that can happen is—well, don’t worry about that. Give it a shot.”

He stares at the man with wide eyes, “That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

“Trust me, I have a good feeling about this,” he’s offered a reassuring smile.

Holding his breath Credence reluctantly takes the wand with a trembling hand. He’s startled when white and gold sparks shoot from the tip the moment he wraps his fingers around it, dropping it into Percy’s lap with a yelp. Instead of being upset the man let’s out a jovial shout and pulls the younger man into his arms, face split into a wide grin.

“W-wha—“

“Soulmate’s wands are usually compatible,” Percy explains breathlessly, face an open expression of pure delight, “Here, let’s try something.”

Credence is still awestruck as the man slips the wand back into his hand, kissing him on the cheek as he does so.

“I want you to try the Lumos charm” he begins, pressing close to the younger man’s side, “Now hold the wand out like this,” Percy envelopes Credence’s hand with his own and extends their arms, “It’s very simple—you’re going to flick your wrist, draw the wand back and then flick it once more while saying the incantation,” as he explains the spell he guides their hands to perform the movements, “Simple, right?”

“Seems simple enough,” Credence croaks nervously, “I—I’m not going to blow anything up?”

Percy’s chest rumbles as he chuckles, “No, you’re not going to blow anything up, I promise.” 

Percy releases his hand and has Credence repeat the motions twice more by himself before he tells him the incantation that goes along with it. With a nod the older man encourages him to try the spell, watching closely.

He exhales shakily before performing the motions with a firm, “Lumos Maxima!”

The tip of the wand glows to life with a beautiful white light, chasing the shadows from the room. 

Credence gasps and turns to look at Percy in wonder. The man is gazing at him tenderly, a soft smile on his lips, and he’s shocked to see tears in those dark eyes.

“Now say “Nox,” is spoken in a rough voice, bright eyes not once leaving his face.

“Nox.” He repeats softly and watches the light die, leaving the tip of the wand dark once more.

He’s instantly swept into a warm embrace with the man nuzzling against his neck. The stubble tickles his skin and he lets out an embarrassing squeak before melting into his soulmate’s arms.

“You successfully performed your first spell,” Percy proudly murmurs. “Congratulations, Credence.”

His first spell. It could be the undeniable proof that he is indeed a wizard, or it could be the strong arms surrounding him so lovingly, like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Whatever the reason he begins to cry, dropping his head to rest on Percy’s shoulder as he vents his emotions for the second time today.

The man makes a sympathetic noise before pulling him closer, placing a gentle hand to rest at the base of his neck, “I know,” Percy coos, stroking soothing circles at his nape, “You’re finally where you belong. I’ve got you.”

Those words cause him to weep harder as he clings to the man. He’s never felt this safe before. 

This loved.

___________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

It feels like he an eternity that he holds Credence, the young man open and vulnerable in his arms after his successful Lumos charm so bittersweet. Percy can’t even begin to imagine what he must be feeling—only just finding out who he is and what he’s capable of. Everything that he’s missed out on his entire life. 

Percy plans to correct that.

After Credence pulls back and dries his tears he mentions that he should probably get some sleep and Percy reluctantly agrees. He would love nothing more than to sit here cradling his soulmate into the early hours of the morning, but like Credence, he has work looming over him as well.

They climb the stairs together where they share a long, passionate goodnight kiss in front of the guest room; a teasing slide of lips and tongue before he forces himself to pull back and whisper goodnight once more, walking on quiet feet to his own room.

Percy showers and changes into a pair of lounge pants, his mind hyperaware of Credence in the room next to him as he slips beneath the sheets. He was incredibly tempted to invite the young man to sleep in his bed but that would have been too much too soon. Although they’re soulmates he can’t expect things to move that quickly on the first day. A relationship takes time to build, regardless of how eager he is to have Credence next to him right now.

He lies there in the dark staring at the ceiling, thinking about how his day turned out. It wasn’t anything like he thought it would be, yet it isn’t something that he regrets. If he regrets anything it’s that Credence has been neglected, abused, and has had his heritage kept from him this whole time. His soulmate deserved better than that. He deserves everything good and Percy is going to make sure he gets it.

Turning on his side his mind directs him to earlier when he saw Credence at the foot of the stairs wearing his pajamas. The possessiveness that bubbled up was nearly consuming as the thing within him purred in pleasure at the sight of his soulmate wearing his clothing. It took everything he had not to pin the man to the sofa and ravish him. Oh, but he was immensely tempted.

As sleep begins to seduce him Percy drowsily thinks about everything he’ll need to do to get Credence registered as a magical citizen; a file will need to be created, he’ll need to get a wand—have it registered, the proper paperwork will need to be filled out and signed by multiple parties. Tedious but doable.

His hazy thoughts soon drift to the sisters, Modesty and Chastity. Percy knows without a doubt he’ll be able to save the younger child no problem; Remove her from the home after her magical heritage has been confirmed and place her in a wizarding household. She’ll receive her letter when she turns eleven, so at least one of them will get to experience a proper magical childhood. He knows Credence would want that for her. 

It’s the older one that poses an issue. From what his soulmate has told him Chastity doesn’t have a timer; Not even a soulmark. Percy has virtually no authority when it comes to the no-maj so there’s not much that he can do. They could still test her for magical abilities, of course, but it would be pointless. Every witch and wizard has a timer, no matter the circumstances.

The only way she could be a witch and not have a mark was if it was somehow covered up.

No matter the outcome Percy knows that some intense obliviations are going to have to happen in order to make this transition, whether it be just that bitch alone or with the older sister included. He hopes that he can come up with something for her or Credence is going to be devastated.

His final thoughts before sleep takes him is whether or not he can make up for years of unhappiness.

*

“Percy.”

A hushed voice pulls him from the dark abyss of sleep and it takes a moment for Percy to cut through the fog in his mind to realize that he’s hearing it from the doorway and not part of some a dream. 

“Percy?”

He cracks his eyes open, squinting as he turns his head towards the door, “Credence? Is everything alright?” Percy murmurs in a raspy voice as he raises himself up on an elbow.

“Yeah, no—yes. Everything’s alright. I-I was just—“ Credence clears his throat, “I can’t sleep. Do you think...umm, that is I was wondering if...would it be alright—“

“C’mere,” Percy mumbles half asleep, sliding to the other side of the bed before drawing the blankets back. He’s just barely moved over when the young man quickly climbs in beside him, snuggling to his bare chest with a contented sigh. His heart flutters as he covers his soulmate, pulling him closer to kiss his forehead as he lies down again.

“Thank you Percy,” Credence whispers, lips ghosting over his skin to create a pleasant sensation that sends a chill down his spine.

“Mhmm,” he plants lazy kisses across the younger man’s face—his jaw, his cheek, his brow, to the top of his head—all while sluggishly stroking a hand up and down his back with eyes closed. Percy relishes every second while he’s still awake. The warmth of Credence’s breath against his skin, how his chest rises and falls against his side, the tickle of his fingertips shyly caressing his bare stomach. If he wasn’t so exhausted from lack of sleep he would definitely be struggling to keep his touch innocent.

The last thing Percy remembers as he slips back into unconsciousness is Credence’s soft lips pressing a kiss right above his heart before quietly muttering, “Thank you for everything.”

___________________________________________  
Credence  
* * * * *

The first thing Credence realizes upon waking is that he’s not in his own bed (it’s far too comfortable to be his), followed swiftly by an internal panic attack at the second realization that he’s not alone. Sure, Modesty has crawled into his bed with him after having nightmares a few times, but he’s 100% positive that his sister isn’t this heavy nor does she have stubble on her face. It takes a moment but the anxiety begins to subside once his brain boots up and he remembers where he’s at and who this firm body partially smothering him is.

He’s lying flat on his back with Percy draped over him like a snuggly octopus. The man’s right leg is slung over his hips and he has his arms wrapped possessively around Credence’s chest. He’s snoring quietly with his head tucked under the other’s chin, prickly stubble and parted lips a pleasant contrast where it’s burrowed beneath the pajama’s collar.

It must be the early hours of the morning because the room is still dark, with the only source of light coming from the moon peeking in through the blinds. Credence carefully places a hand on Percy’s shoulder and slowly trails it down his bare side, dipping along the man’s curves and around to caress the small of his back. The resulting feedback sensation sends a ripple of chills through his palm and fingertips to dance up his inner wrist. Credence shivers and gazes at man, willing his eyes to adjust to the low light.

He freezes when he feels the embrace tighten, a warm nose tickling along his skin as Percy nuzzles his neck.

“Mornin’,” The man rumbles, voice husky from sleep, and Credence bites his cheek at the faintest trace of an accent. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but it’s there and it effectively takes his breath away.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” He whispers, melting against Percy as he cuddles even closer, more adequately resembling that octopus now that he’s awake—not that he minds in the slightest.

“Mmm,” Percy agrees but makes no fuss about it, instead gently kissing the base of Credence’s neck with a pleased sound, “S’okay,” the man mumbles groggily and oh—he really cannot handle all of these rough, raspy noises right now.

He eases his arm back up, bravely teasing the man’s spine along the way. He’s rewarded with a low appreciative hum and a playful nip beneath his jaw that causes him to gasp. His face burns hot when Percy chuckles deep in his chest.

“M’sorry. Couldn’t resist,” the man murmurs before resting his head back down on Credence’s chest with a yawn, “Sleep alright?”

“The best sleep I’ve ever had,” he confesses in a whisper. He’s never woken feeling this refreshed before.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

The bed creaks softly as Percy supports himself on one arm; looking down at him, he thinks. Credence can’t see his face, as he’s silhouetted by the moonlight streaming in from the window, but he can feel the man’s warm breath puff at his cheek and he knows their faces are close.

“May I kiss you?” Is the timid request he receives.

His heart skips.

“Please,” he replies, sighing softly when their lips brush together.

Percy adjusts himself, leaning down to kiss in long, lazy strokes. Credence gasps at the sudden drag of fingers against his throat before lifting his own hands to cup the man’s face. Their kiss is slow and tender, yet it doesn’t lack any of the passion from last night. They hold each other, swapping this charged intimacy as they explore.

Although it inevitably heats up when Percy groans low in his throat and dips his tongue past Credence’s lips to lick deep into his mouth, his soulmate never once strays his hand past the younger man’s ribs, instead staying frustratingly close to his waist. He can appreciate that, seeing as he’s never done anything remotely sexual with another person in his life, but his skin is on fire and it feels like the only thing that can quench it is Percy’s touch. Even now as they pant against each other’s skin the man is a perfect gentleman. 

Part of Credence wishes that he would slip a little.

They make out for a while longer, fingers running through hair and lips trailing down necks and along bare collar bones. Flustered, he can feel the hard outline of Percy’s excitement against his hip and knows the man can likely feel his own, but he doesn’t roll up like he desperately wants to, still shy and entirely now to this. Instead he brazenly kneads the muscles of Percy’s chest, blindly swiping a peaked nipple in the process.

The man suddenly withdraws with a sharp intake of breath, resting his forehead against Credence’s as he pants softly.

“We should probably get up,” he slurs, voice thick and lilting, “I need to get ready for work,” but even as he says this, Percy drops his head once more to capture Credence’s lips in a heated kiss, this one more intense and searing.

The older man groans as he slips his tongue in to tease, drawing out short, cut off whimpers from his soulmate. Credence maps Percy’s bare chest with abandon, gliding along the planes and valleys with his fingertips until the man above him trembles and pulls back, slowly pressing kisses to the flushed skin of his cheek and brow.

“As much as I would enjoy staying here like this all day with you—,” Percy rumbles with a sigh, bending down one more time to kiss the tip of Credence’s nose, “I really do need to get up. Although, I will admit that I’m tempted to call out,” he chuckles breathlessly.

An embarrassing giggle bubbles up from him and the older man joins in, chortling merrily above him.

“You’re adorable,” Percy whispers, the presence of a smile in his voice as he kisses the corner of Credence’s mouth, “Let’s get ready.”

*

They manage to get out of bed with only one more electrifying kiss, Percy disappearing into his bathroom while Credence pads to the guest room to get dressed. His “problem” is a nuisance, but he’s dealt with similar issues in the past, ignoring its presence as he gets dressed. 

Percy is still in his bedroom when Credence emerges into the hall, so he quietly makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, thinking about surprising the man with a bit of breakfast. The coffee pot is easy to use, blessedly, so he gets that going, finding a can of ground coffee in one of the cabinets. He’s not sure how strong Percy likes his brew so he makes it as he would at work, pouring water into the top and switching the device on.

While it sputters and begins to drip Credence opens the refrigerator and quickly locates eggs, maple-smoked bacon, and spicy sausage links. He sets these items on the counter and hunts for a skillet. It doesn’t take long for him to find one, in the bottom cabinet by the stove, and soon he has the sausage and bacon cooking in one pan. 

He finds a loaf of bread but not a toaster, which confuses him. He’ll have to ask Percy how he toasts things when he gets into the kitchen.

The scent of fresh coffee and spicy links fill the kitchen and he inhales deeply, savoring the scent. They never have this kind of food at the church as it’s considered a gluttonous luxury that only rich sinners partake of, but every now and then Credence would take a few bucks from his stash to buy a hearty breakfast sandwich from the local fast food joint on the way to work. Even though it was cheap, mostly processed food, he remembers the sheer ecstasy he felt the first time he bit into a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. Greasy Heaven.

He finds a fork in one of the drawers to turn the strips and links before searching for a plate to put them on. When a cabinet suddenly opens by itself and a plate floats down to him, Credence nearly jerks the skillet off the stove. He spins around to see Percy, immaculately dressed and freshly shaved, leaning against the doorframe with a fond smile. His hand is raised, guiding the dish onto the counter.

“I must say, I’ve never come into the kitchen to breakfast being made. You’ll spoil me,” he purrs, grin going crooked as he pushes off and strides in. His eyes fall upon the coffee pot as it dribbles out the last few drops before fluttering shut with a contented sigh, “Coffee too? You’re an absolute miracle.”

Credence ducks his head shyly, turning back to grab the plate and pull the bacon and sausage out of the pan, “I hoped you wouldn’t mind,” he murmurs sheepishly, setting the plate aside before reaching for the carton of eggs.

“Mind? I appreciate you doing this—It’s very thoughtful,” Percy murmurs.

He startles slightly when the older man suddenly slips his arms around Credence’s waist from behind, chin resting on his shoulder.

“H-how do you like your eggs?” He asks, voice threatening to waver.

Percy’s chest rumbles against his back as he hums thoughtfully, “Over easy,” he replies, turning his face to kiss Credence’s cheeks. The smooth skin around his lips ignites a burst of that tingling sensation.

“Thank you, Credence.” The man kisses his neck this time, gentle and loving before pulling back, hands lingering at his hips before he lets go completely and walks to the counter.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers, cracking eggs into the same pan, entranced as he watches Percy flick his wrist to magically retrieve plates and cups from various cabinets.

“Can everyone do magic without a wand?” He asks curiously after a moment, accepting the spatula that Percy floats towards him after he went searching for one.

The older man plucks a clear glass mug from the air and lifts the coffee pot, pouring himself a generous amount of the steaming liquid.

“No, not everyone. It can be difficult to perform and can take years to master,” Percy replies, replacing the pot on the burner before leaning back against the counter with the mug cradled in his hands, “As Director of Magical Security I need to be prepared to defend myself on the off chance that I get disarmed.”

Credence hums in understanding, turning the stove off before transferring the cooked eggs onto two plates, “Your job sounds dangerous,” he comments quietly, mind conjuring all manner of risky situations his soulmate might encounter.

“It can be,” Percy agrees, sipping his coffee with a solemn expression, “Don’t worry, I’ve been doing this for nearly fifteen years.”

“—Oh, yeah. I noticed you don’t have a toaster. How do you toast your bread?”

The man breaks out into an unfairly handsome grin before setting his mug on the counter. Credence watches with rapt attention as Percy wandlessly unties the loaf of bread and lifts several slices into the air. He observes while the man quietly flicks the fingers of his right hand while maintaining the levitation with his left to instantly toast each piece.

“That’s insane,” he blurts out, a smile twitching to life on his lips.

Percy wears a smug expression, shooting Credence a wink that sets his heart into a full sprint, before guiding the toasted slices onto a waiting plate. He can’t help but laugh as the man further shows off by opening the fridge hands-free to retrieve butter and strawberry jam, commanding each plate, utensil and jar to follow him out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Credence is about to pick up Percy’s mug when that too takes flight, tearing a giddy laugh from his throat.

“I can’t wait to learn magic,” he states, pulse pounding with excitement as he falls in behind the magical procession to the next room.

“Me either,” Percy replies wistfully, gazing at Credence with warm eyes as he effortlessly lowers each item onto the embroidered table cloth, “I’ll take you to get your wand soon. I promise.”

*

They eat breakfast while Credence eagerly pelts the older man with questions. He asks if all witches and wizards live in modern homes and use no-maj appliances, which Percy responds by saying no. He explains that here in the states, especially in larger cities, many in the wizarding world have adapted to living closely with no-majs and partake in their clever inventions, and how the statute of secrecy has come a long way to allow business dealings with them. Percy tells him about Rappaport’s Law in the past, that wizards and no-majs were strictly forbidden to have contact with one another to protect wizard-kind. They couldn’t marry or become friends, he said.

Now, he goes on to say, it isn’t as strict. Their laws are similar to the English, allowing relations as long as the statute remains intact, with each party aware of the consequences if that trust is broken, namely the magical individual being punished and the non-magical being Obliviated.

“What does Obliviated mean?” Credence questions nervously, “Like, kill them?” 

Percy throws his head back and laughs, setting his fork on the empty plate in front of him.

“Mercy Lewis, no,” he sighs in amusement. “It’s a spell used to remove memories.”

Remove memories? There’s a lot more to magic than he initially thought.

“Are there spells to kill? Not that I want to!” he adds quickly and flaps his hands, “I’m just curious.”

Percy studies his face quietly and nods, “Unforgivable Curses,” he confirms, “There are three and they’re—well, unforgivable. Use of any three can result in the death penalty.”

“Oh wow.” The other two must be pretty awful to warrant such an extreme punishment.

The older man drinks his coffee, eyes absently tracing the patterns swirling on the tablecloth, “You’ll come to learn that even though magic can be used for many great, beautiful things, there’s also dark magic and wizards that wish to cause harm. There’s terrible people on both sides,” he tilts the mug back to finish the rest of his drink before setting it down on the table.

“That’s why I do what I do; To protect the magical and non-magical alike from those threats.”

Credence stares at his empty plate, reflecting on everything Percy told him. 

There’s much to learn about this new world.

*

After they finish breakfast and Percy skillfully sends all of the dishes to the kitchen to wash themselves (“That might be the greatest spell ever” He had blurted out in wonder, resulting in a delighted laugh from his soulmate), Percy surprises him once more when he realizes that Credence is wearing the same clothes from yesterday, casting a quick “Scourgify,” he had called it, to clean his outfit. The man promises to help him get more clothes, waving away his protests to state that he’ll need more than what’s on his back.

Thankfully the Woolworth building isn’t that far so he’s saved from having to poof around like they did yesterday. It only takes about five minutes to walk, and soon they’re climbing the steps with the same doorman eyeing him skeptically. Percy greets him with a nod and Credence offers a sheepish “hello” as they cross the threshold into the entryway.

It’s just as surreal as it was yesterday, ascending the steps into another world, this one bright and magnificent in comparison. There aren’t as many people roaming around, seeing as it’s incredibly early still, but Credence catches a glimpse of what appears to be origami mice skittering across the smooth floor. The little hand on the giant clock skims between the green sections, indicating low threat levels. It’s such a strange, interesting device that Credence eagerly wishes to know more about.

Percy guides him towards the lift where Red, the goblin he previously thought to be a demon, has just returned in the carriage, presumably from taking people to other floors.

“Director Graves!” Red perks up, leaning against the small cane in his hands. His eyes slide from the older man to Credence, staring at him suspiciously.

“And guest,” the small goblin huffs out, clearly remembering how strangely the younger man behaved yesterday.

“Morning Red.” Percy says, stepping onto the platform with Credence in tow, “This is Credence.”

“Hello,” he says shyly, giving a halfhearted wave.

“The one who ran like he was being chased by a werewolf,” Red says, sounding amused as he presses a button with his cane to activate the lift.

As the grate shuts and the carriage begins to rise Credence leans in close with a bewildered expression to whisper, “Werewolves are real?”

“And vampires,” Percy whispers back, the corner of his lip twitching when the younger man sputters.

“This is ridiculous,” he exclaims in a quiet rush of air, causing the man beside him to chuckle.

“Ah, just wait until Scamander tells you about the mermaids he swam with at Hogwarts. I personally don’t care too much for them, but I think that’s understandable after one tries to drown you,” he says conversationally.

“Mermaids!?” Credence croaks and Percy bursts into laughter. Red turns to look at the director in shock, as if he’s never heard the man make that sound before.

His laughter steadily fades as the lift comes to a smooth halt, “Yes, and they look nothing like that Starbucks logo of yours,” he murmurs with a smile before thanking Red, stepping out of the lift with Credence following on shaky legs.

Percy places a hand at the small of his back and leads him the same route as the previous day. This time he isn’t completely dazed so he notices things he didn’t before, namely how they turn to enter a large room with at least a dozen desks. Most are empty, save for a few with people writing. One woman lifts her head as they enter and Credence recognizes her from yesterday. Tina.

“Mr. Graves,” she says, eyebrows raised as they enter the walk path. She turns her gaze to Credence, eyebrows going even higher as they approach. 

“Goldstein,” Percy greets, stopping beside her desk, “As soon as you finish whatever it is you’re working on I need you in my office.”

“Sir,” she nods before turning to him. “Hi Credence.”

“Hi,” he fidgets anxiously, “I—uh, I’m sorry about yesterday. I was a bit overwhelmed.”

“No harm done. I’m glad that you’re alright,” Tina says, her features softening as she smiles.

It’s then that more people begin to trickle in, all dressed in various suits and similar coats. Each throw a greeting their way, eyeing Credence with interest when they notice how he’s pressed to Percy’s side. The man slips a comforting arm around his shoulder and gives him a reassuring squeeze.

“Mornin’ boss! Whose this?” A brunette man with vibrant green eyes sidles up next to them, hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets. He glances between them with open curiosity, examining Credence so intently that he begins to feel a bit anxious.

Percy turns to look at the man with a soft huff, “Aren’t we nosy this morning?” 

“Of course. Ya can’t bring eye candy into the bullpen and expect us not to ask questions,” the man replies with a smirk, winking at Credence when their eyes meet. He blushes and ducks his head.

“Watch it Fontaine. I’d love to have a reason to drag your ass to the training room for a duel,” Percy responds with a sweet smile, “This is my soulmate.”

The man blanches instantly and the room erupts into excited whispers. Tina stares at them with her mouth agape, clearly not expecting this.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, boss. Just being friendly,” Fontaine laughs nervously, offering his hand to Credence for a handshake. He accepts the firm grip, both shaking before they part.

“Caspen Fontaine. Nice to meet you.”

“Credence,” he replies, nearly breaking into a nervous laugh when he spots the intense expression on Percy’s face. He’s staring the man down like a hawk watching its prey.

The group surrounding them shuffles closer, seemingly eager to get a good look at him. Some are smiling warmly, gazing at them with fond expressions while others chatter excitedly about how cute the younger man is, offering Percy enthusiastic congratulations as they fawn over Credence.

He’s saved from the appraisal when Percy turns to Tina once more to say, “My office when you’re finished.”

The older man leads Credence away from her desk and the crowd of men and woman gathered around it into a short hallway. He remembers now, seeing the plaque with Percy’s name by the door, as well as being reminded of the embarrassing fainting incident.

They step inside the office after Percy waves a hand—to unlock it, he suspects—and is ushered into one of two chairs that face the man’s desk.

“Apologies. Fontaine can be—a bit too friendly” his soulmate says, removing his coat to send it to a rack by the door.

Credence keeps his on, “He seems nice.”

“I think you mean obnoxious—,” Percy replies with a quirk of his brow, “—but he’s a great Auror.”

“Is that what they all are?”

“Yes. Junior and Senior Aurors,” Percy straightens his waistcoat before sitting at the desk, “Tina is the head Senior Auror. She leads most of the difficult cases.”

Credence nods, comparing his knowledge of law enforcement hierarchy to what he knows of Percy and his team of Aurors.

He watches Percy quietly read through several documents on the desk before setting them aside to write something onto a memo pad. Credence gasps softly when the page folds itself into one of the mice he saw earlier, darting off the desk and under the door.

The man then leans over, sliding one of the drawers open to produce a manila folder which he sets down in front of him. Percy grins, folding his hands over the file as he gazes at Credence.

“Ready to become a magical citizen?”

___________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

Percy wishes that he could bottle the pure joy radiating off of Credence to keep with him always. The way his soulmate’s face lit up when he said those words had him secretly fighting back tears, a knot of raw emotion pressing hard against his chest and throat. The young man nodded quickly, sliding his chair forward until Percy heard his knees thunk against the wood of the desk.

He laughed through his feelings, smiling fondly at the man before a soft chittering sounded from the door as another paper mouse slid under.

“They’re really on it today,” Percy comments approvingly as the document hurriedly scurries along the floor and up his desk, dramatically unfolding before him when it reaches the top. 

Credence leans closer to examine the paper with an expression of disbelief, “Is this really happening?” He says rhetorically, eyes going bright the longer he continues to stare at the blank form. Percy reaches out to cover his hand, gripping it gently and giving a soft squeeze until Credence lifts his eyes to look at him.

“You’ve already missed out on so much of our world, and I can never apologize enough for that,” Percy murmurs, stroking his thumb along the man’s knuckles, “We’re going to fix it, starting today.”

*

With Credence’s help they fill out all of the required information, aside from certain aspects of the younger man’s past like where he was born or who his birth parents were. Percy quiets the anger he feels when he thinks about the woman who adopted him, calmly telling Credence that they’ll get the proper documentation they need to add to the file. 

Even if he personally has to go interrogate that bitch, he thinks to himself. 

They work with what they have and before long Percy adds the form to the manila folder. A firm knock on the door signals Tina’s arrival, his Senior Auror slipping inside with a file of her own.

“Trade,” he states, offering her Credence’s in return for the one she’s holding.

“Blind Pig case from yesterday,” she informs him, glancing quizzically at the manila folder Percy handed her, “We questioned the suspects, but all they could tell us was they were hired to smuggle the Horntail into the bar and deliver it to an unknown buyer. They couldn’t even give us the name of their contact,” she sighs.

Percy furrows his brow, squinting up at Tina, “How were they hired?”

“They said they received an anonymous letter by pigeon with the offer. Supposedly the letter stated that they would get half of the payment up front if they accepted the job and the other half after the delivery was completed. We used Veritaserum to confirm; They’re telling the truth.”

The older man scratches his chin, taking a moment to think before he sets the file down and flips it open to scan through it.

“After you take that file I gave you down to Registry, I want you, Fontaine and Weiss to go to their last known residence and search for any letters. If they’re stupid enough to unleash a Hungarian Horntail in the middle of The Blind Pig it’s safe to say they probably didn’t bother disposing of their client’s letters. Find them, bring them back here and run a trace. I want to know who intended to buy that dragon and I want to know why,” Percy thumbs through several more pages before closing the folder with a a tired huff. “Dismissed.”

“Sir,” Tina confirms with a nod before turning on her heel to exit the office.

Credence blinks owlishly at him from across the desk, “Dragon?” He mutters so quietly Percy has to strain to hear it.

“Oh yes, and it’s currently inside a suitcase,” the older man tells him, biting his tongue to keep from laughing at the kid’s stunned expression.

Credence stares at him, eyes bugged as he absorbs this strange information.

“I know it’s a lot—“ Percy tells him, sliding the Blind Pig file out of the way just in time for a series of paper mice to sprint under the door and bounce onto his desk, unfolding rapidly to form a small stack, “—Damn it, Abernathy. Couldn’t he have just brought these to me himself?” He huffs, watching the pile steadily grow before turning his eyes to Credence.

“This might take a while,” he says with a sigh, followed by, “Feel free to have a look around the office.”

“Okay,” Credence murmurs, curious gaze already scanning the room as he stands from the chair and walks around. Percy has a variety of books and magical items lining the walls of his office, with everything from autographed hardbacks to obscure magical artifacts and sentimental keepsakes he’s collected over the years, going as far back as his Ilvermorny days.

It’s quiet for a while as Credence makes his way around the room, leaning in to read the spines of books or examine what he perceives as a strange objects. Percy struggles not to groan as he reads through Abernathy’s annoyingly long monthly report for the Wand Permits office. The man overdoes his descriptions and it makes him want to pull his hair out.

He’s nine pages in when Credence suddenly yelps and falls backwards. Percy’s on his feet with his wand drawn in an instant, rushing over to where the other man sits with a startled expression.

“Are you alright?” He asks, attention torn between making sure his soulmate is okay and the soft fluttering sound buzzing above his head. There’s nothing particularly dangerous in his office but he’s still on alert, only relaxing when he notices the golden snitch darting back and forth in the air.

“I’m so sorry!” Credence rushes out, nervously accepting Percy’s hand to get up after the man slips his wand away, “I-I touched it when I shouldn’t have and it just—“ he makes an exaggerated gesture with his arm that has Percy cracking up.

“It’s fine. That’s the golden snitch from my final quidditch match at Ilvermorny.”

He explains what a golden snitch is and briefly talks about quidditch, preparing to wave the fluttering ball down with wandless magic. Credence surprises him by jumping up to swipe the snitch out of the air, staring down at it with a wide grin.

“You’d make one hell of a Seeker,” Percy says, impressed.

Credence looks at him puzzled, “Seeker? Like hide-and-seek?”

Oh, his heart can only swell so much.

___________________________________________  
Credence  
* * * * *

After the incident with the golden snitch Credence decides to take a book from one of the shelves and read quietly while he waits to go to work. It’s about the history of witchcraft in America and goes into depth about Native American magic and how the European wizards influenced them when they settled. It goes on to discuss the Salem witch trials and Credence had to set the book aside, sick to his stomach as he thinks about the poisonous message Mary Lou spreads every single day.

Soon enough it’s time for him to go to work, and Percy stands from his desk to escort him out of the building. As they exit the lift he tells Credence that he’ll be by to walk him back to Woolworth after his shift and that they’ll go down to Registry to get his picture taken and added to the file.

Percy offers him a handsome grin outside of the coffee shop, glancing around before discreetly flicking his wrist to lean in and kiss Credence. It’s chaste yet sweet, and he wishes it could last longer, but all too soon Percy pulls back and flicks his wrist to cancel whatever spell he used. He bids farewell and turns to leave. 

Credence enters the building after the older man tosses one more wistful look over his shoulder, pulling the green apron from his coat pocket to hang around his neck as he crosses the threshold. He loosely fastens the ties around his waist and rounds the counter, waving at Angela on his way to the back to clock in. 

He types in his employee number and confirms the punch-in before going back to the front to begin work.

The first hour passes swiftly without too much hassle. He makes the drinks like normal and hands them out, occasionally dipping into the back to refill one of the pastry display cases as they begin to sell out. Credence brews coffee, blends frappes, and wipes counters as the shift carries on.

When there’s a lull in customers Angela sidles up next to him and asks about the man from yesterday. Off the top of his head he tells her that Percy is a family friend he hasn’t see in a while, and although it’s clear she doesn’t believe the lie, she doesn’t mention anything about it, instead patting his shoulder before walking to the counter to greet another customer.

They get a rush around a quarter ‘til two with a line that stretches to the door, several orders including multiple items. Credence hustles back and forth to keep up with the demand, bouncing between the pick-up counter and drink station with each customer. It’s when Angela calls out a name for him to write down that he nearly passes out.

“Short black decaf for Mary Lou,” Angela hollers over her shoulder.

Credence refuses to turn around. He refuses to meet the woman’s eyes as he shakily scrawls her name across the top of an eight ounce cup and slips a sleeve onto it. He refuses to acknowledge her as he lifts the pot of decaf coffee with trembling hands to fill up to the line on the inside of the cup. He hunches in on himself as he pops the lid on and turns to walk to pick-up, eyes downcast as he calls her name.

Credence extends his arm to place the cup onto the counter and it takes everything in him not to cry out when Mary Lou suddenly shoots forward to grab his wrist in a painful grip. Only then does he hesitantly lift his head to stare at the woman’s unnervingly calm face as she digs her nails into his skin.

She leans forward to quietly say, “We need to talk. You had better come by the church after you leave this wretched building—“ Mary Lou squeezes his wrist tightly once more before releasing him to snatch the coffee, eyes cold and hard as she turns to walk away. He watches her toss the cup in the trash on the way out.

Her unspoken threat hangs in the air and it’s Angela calling out another order that breaks through his shock.

Will she hurt the girls if he doesn’t show up?

Credence can feel himself on the cusps of a panic attack as he anxiously pulls another cup from the dispenser.

What is he going to do?

*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait!! 😭
> 
> It’s not much, but I promise to try and make the next one a bit better!!
> 
> *Mild angst ahoy!!*

Percy  
* * *

After he walked Credence to work and returns to his office Percy sits at his desk thinking of what he needs to do to get the proper information for his soulmate’s file. It’s possible they could leave it out, seeing as the man was orphaned at a young age and doesn’t know who his parents are or where he was born, but that would just make it difficult to officially register him as a magical citizen. 

Not impossible, just tedious.

The file is at Registry now, something that shouldn’t take too long, and he’ll know more about what he needs to do once it’s been processed. They’ll need a photograph for the file, of course and if the form is accepted Percy will need to take Credence to Jonker’s for a wand before bringing him back to MACUSA to register it at the Wand Permits office.

Tapping his finger against his desk Percy’s eyes slide over to the Blind Pig case at the corner. With a soft huff he pulls it towards him and flips the cover. All they’ve got so far are the three suspects who smuggled a juvenile Hungarian Horntail into The Blind Pig via shotty expansion charm on a cigarette case to allegedly sell it to an unknown client for an unknown reason. Could it have been for someone’s personal magical creature collection? 

Or perhaps something more nefarious?

A glance at the clock shows its nearly lunch so Percy decides to have something brought up to his office from the cafeteria while he works. He calls for his secretary and puts his order in before thumbing through the file again for something he might have missed.

The Horntail was picked up at the docks by the suspects from a small wizarding crew that smuggled it within a large freight container amongst a no-maj shipment. How they managed to transfer the dragon from the container to the cigarette case without raising any suspicion is beyond him. It’s possible they had it sedated or in stasis during transportation and it roused later while in their possession. Whatever the case may be Percy needs to find out where that Horntail was headed.

His secretary Miss Simpson stops by with a plate from the cafeteria as well as coffee and tells Percy to let her know if he needs anything else, which he waves off with a thank you before tucking into his BLT. He eats quietly, thinking about any possible connections to other cases but comes up empty handed. The two things the need to further this case are the two things they aren’t any closer to obtaining, no matter how many times he reads the file.

There’s a knock at the door just as he’s eating the last bite of his sandwich and he waves it open. Goldstein enters carrying an envelope, an exhausted expression on her face.

“You were right about the letter, sir,” she states, placing the envelope on his desk, “This was found sitting at the top of their trash in the kitchen.”

Idiots, he thinks, opening the unmarked letter. A handwritten note that confirms what the suspects told them. The offer of a half payment before and after the task was completed.

“Did you run a trace?”

“We did, but all we could figure out is that it was sent from here in Manhattan. The signature was too weak to track to an exact location,” she murmurs with an apologetic frown.

Percy rereads the note several times before setting it down to look at Goldstein.

“Go back to the house and look for other clues.”

With a nod he dismisses her before pushing his empty plate to the side to pick up the letter again. The fact that it couldn’t be traced could mean any number of things. One, the magical signature has degraded with time. Two, the signature wasn’t strong to begin with. Three, there could have been a spell put in place to prevent tracking—but as Percy holds the letter in his hands he can sense none. 

It would take time, days really, for a signature to degrade this severely. The person that sent this was most likely a Squib, he suspects.

Though a Squib cannot perform magic they still retain a signature through their DNA, one that’s quite difficult to pick up, especially if the magical ancestry dates further back. Unlike the Ministry of Magic, MACUSA records most Squib births where possible—Although they may not be able to do magic they can still sense it, things such as soulmate timers, various disillusionment charms and the like.

That’s how Squibs are able to get through magical access points like The Blind Pig or Dragon Street.

Percy taps at his bottom lip, hoping beyond hope that Goldstein manages to find something that can give them the break they need.

*

When two o’clock rolls around Percy places all of the papers back into the Blind Pig file before leaving his office to meet Credence at the coffee shop. The temperature has managed to drop since he was last out at eleven and he makes a mental note to stop by his tailor on the way home to get some warmer clothes for his soulmate. Pulling his coat tighter Percy walks the three blocks it takes to get to Starbucks, still mystified that Credence was so close the entire time. Fate is such a strange thing.

Peering through the glass as he opens the door Percy spots Credence behind the counter pouring coffee. Something in his expression is off, like he’s awaiting bad news, and when he notices Percy standing near one of the columns he visibly pales. The younger man gestures for a moment before leaning down to whisper to his supervisor. When she nods and pats Credence’s shoulder he ducks into the back out of sight, presumably to clock out, before returning with his small coat and carrying the green apron.

His expression is still grim when he rounds the counter and steps up to meet Percy.

“Is everything alright?” The older man asks, following after his soulmate who seems to be on autopilot as they exit the shop.

“No. No—Mary Lou came by today,” Credence replies weakly, stoping to pace at the mouth of one of the alleyways, wringing his hands anxiously.

“What? Did she speak to you?” He works to keep his voice even and free of anger.

“S-she told me to come by the church after work,” Credence mutters, glancing around frantically as if the woman might appear out of thin air, “What if she hurts the girls?” 

The desperate tone in his soulmate’s voice causes Percy’s heart to clench tightly in his chest.

“C’mon,” Percy murmurs, reaching out to place a hand on Credence’s shoulder to guide him out of the alley and back onto the sidewalk, “Let’s go to my office.”

That’s where Percy takes him, down the sidewalk, past the doorman and to the lift all the way up to Major Investigations where he leads Credence to sit on the sofa in his office while he brainstorms.

There’s no way in hell that he’s going to send Credence to talk to that bitch by himself, yet he can’t exactly waltz in there either. That’s when it occurs to him, while sitting next to his soulmate with a reassuring hand on his back, of what to do.

“I’ve got an idea. You just have to trust me, okay?”

A shaky nod and a few encouraging words later finds them apparating to an alley near The New Salem Philanthropic Society. Credence is a nervous wreck and it takes a lot of convincing to get the young man to cross the street and ascend the steps with Percy close behind, concealed under a sturdy disillusionment charm. They enter together, Credence shutting the door once the older man has slipped inside and out of the way.

The plan is simple. Have Credence speak with Mary Lou as requested while Percy observes the conversation and intervenes if necessary. He really doesn’t want to catch a citation or be imprisoned for cursing a no-maj but he absolutely will if he feels his soulmate is in any danger. His position as Director of Magical Security can be damned.

The church is outdated with high ceilings and creaking floorboards that prove to be a challenge for Percy under his veil of stealth. He follows the young man past the entryway and to the right, into what he presumes to be the kitchen and nearly plows into him when Credence suddenly freezes up in the doorway. 

“Took you long enough,” a cold voice announces from within the room. Percy peeks around his soulmate’s rigid form to see a short-haired woman sitting at the kitchen table with her hands folded over a metal cookie tin. Mary Lou Barebone.

He knows what the woman looks like, knows her pinched face from the distant photographs within the New Salmers file from her radical meetings and sermons all over Manhattan and could easily pick her out of a crowd. She wears her cruelty plain on her face as one might wear a hat or scarf. No amount of fake smiles and half-assed handshakes can hide the fact that she’s a downright sadist.

Just looking at her and remembering the scars on Credence’s palms has his hackles raised, the urge to draw his wand and blast her into a black smudge on the floor nearly overwhelming.

Instead he steps off to the side, leaning against the counter to reluctantly watch their interaction.

Credence is quiet for a moment, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast in a display of total submission that has Percy sick to his stomach to see.

“First you don’t come home and then I find this hidden in your room.” Mary Lou thumps the tin in front of her causing the other to flinch, “You’ve been lying to me,” she looks at the other expectantly, lips drawn into a tight line, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Percy stands by helplessly as Credence struggles to stammer out a response, head ducked while he anxiously fidgets with the hem of his shirt. 

“Lying sinful boy,” she hisses, slamming her hand down on the tin, “You’re a disappointment and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

The older wizard bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds to keep himself from rushing forward to snap the bitches neck. He moves closer to the counter, leaning against it and startles when Mary Lou follows his motions with her eyes.

There’s no way she can see him. Percy even checks to make sure that the charm is still in place, which it is.

The way her gaze seems to track him, however is concerning as well as downright unnerving.

Percy pushes his rage down to a simmer to watch Mary Lou closely, perturbed as she glares at him a moment longer before directing her hate back towards Credence. The younger man hasn’t said a word, not even during his last attempt and now is no different as he trembles before this woman’s cold stare, fingers twitching in time with his shoulders.

“I always knew you’d be nothing more than a rotten, worthless invert. You’re a disgusting, ungrateful boy,” she mutters viciously, thumping the cookie tin again, “Thought you’d go behind my back and get a job, hm? What did you think you’d do? Save money to try and get out?”

“I—“

She suddenly lifts the tin and slams it onto the table, “And just where did you think you would go? You’re stupid, you have no skills—barely fit to work in a Godless coffee shop.”

“Please, I—“

“Did you think you would just leave? Take the girls from me and run away somewhere?”

“They’re better off without you,” Credence finally manages to squeeze out in a whisper, and Percy is so immensely proud of him.

“How dare you,” she breathes out, eyes lit up with anger.

“Y-you know it’s the tru—“

“HOW DARE YOU!” Mary Lou howls, slamming her hands down on the table as she springs from her chair, sending it flying back to crash to the floor. She’s remained calm up until this point, albeit agitated if her grating tone was anything to go by. Now she’s absolutely pulsing with unbridled fury.

“Ma?” A soft voice calls from the hall followed by the tap of small feet. Modesty stands there with wide eyes, hands clutched to her chest as she anxiously surveys the scene before her.

“Go back to your room, Modesty,” Mary Lou orders calmly, eyes not once leaving the shaking man.

“But Ma, Credence—“

“YOUR ROOM. Modesty.” The enraged expression alone is enough to send the small child scampering off with fear etched into her features, but not before her eyes briefly pass over and acknowledge Percy and she throws Credence one more longing glance.

“Please, let me see her,” the younger man begs, his body fully shaking now as he fights back tears.

Mary Lou sneers, “You will NEVER see her again.”

“Please—“ Percy swallows hard at the devastation in his soulmate’s voice, feels how it threatens to crush his chest.

“Get out.”

“P-please, just let me see her for a min—“

“I SAID GET OUT!” She screeches, snatching the tin off of the table to hurl at Credence. It strikes him across the cheek with a sharp metallic thud, bursting open as cash flies across the kitchen. Percy is already moving forward with his fist prepared to draw back and deliver a blow, only to freeze under Mary Lou’s crazed eyes when they immediately lock onto him beneath the veil. 

An unspoken warning.

Of course it could be a coincidence but it’s like she’s staring directly at him, her gaze full of venom.

If she can see him and he does react this could get ugly—and with children here? He doesn’t want to risk the girls safety, as much as he itches to beat this woman within an inch of her life.

“Out,” she repeats acidly, turning to glare at Credence who has started crying quietly, one hand lifted to cover his reddened cheek.

Without a word Credence spins and leaves the kitchen along with the money scattered on the floor. Percy remains a moment longer, the temptation to attack a tingly sensation in the tips of his fingers. His eyes are drawn from her small figure to the counter he’s standing beside. Just near the edge is a handwritten note that catches his attention, something seemingly familiar in the short scrawl causing him to impulsively reach out and take it when the woman isn’t looking, hastily stuffing it into the pocket of his coat before moving to follow after Credence.

His soulmate is standing at the steps when he gets outside, shoulders trembling violently. Still under the charm, Percy takes Credence by the arm and swiftly guides him to the alley they arrived in, only dropping it once they’ve reached the designated apparition zone. With precision he twists on the spot, drawing the younger man in for side-along as it tugs them both to a different location.

They reappear with a crack two blocks from the Woolworth building and Percy instantly leads them from the zone and out onto the sidewalk. Credence is distraught, his body quaking in quiet despair as he vacantly allows himself to be pulled along. He doesn’t say anything nor does he look at Percy as they walk, and he can feel how his heart begins to crack.

Percy can’t even begin to imagine what he’s feeling.

Treated like shit his whole life and condemned when he actually tries to make something for himself. Not allowed to see his sister, the one person that actually showed him a bit of kindness in a world of abuse and suffering. He deserved much better.

Percy places a hand on Credence’s back once they reach the building, absently nodding to the doorman as they cross the threshold and climb the stairs from the entryway. They take the lift up to Major Investigations where he hustles them past questioning Aurors to get to his office. Once inside with the door closed Percy turns to pull Credence into his arms, rubbing a hand in soothing circles along the younger man’s back, urging him to let it all out.

His soulmate breaks down, melting with a hard sob that steadily picks up until he’s weeping muffled cries into the older man’s chest.

“I’ve got you,” Percy murmurs against his temple, placing a soft kiss to the heated skin there.

Credence mumbles something but it’s so broken and slurred he can’t make out what it is. The older man directs him to the sofa in the corner to sit, allowing the other to press against him as he cradles the back of his head, stroking his thumb along his neck. This gesture makes his soulmate cry harder, tightly fisting the lapels of Percy’s coat like a lifeline as he shakes apart in his arms.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers into Credence’s ear, “We’ll get them out.”

“She’ll never let them go,” he laments, sniffling rapidly. Percy pleads for the younger man to slow his breathing, only speaking once more when the other isn’t in danger of hyperventilating.

“She can’t keep Modesty, especially once we prove she’s of magical heritage,” he states, gently massaging his fingers over the downy hair at the nape of the other’s neck as he works to calm him.

“What about Chastity? I-I can’t leave her behind,” Credence whimpers, pulling back to look at Percy with puffy red eyes. 

He can practically hear his heart shattering.

“We won’t,” he insists firmly.

Even if Percy has to keep her in his home until she turns eighteen. He won’t leave her with that woman.

A knock at the door makes Credence jump, still an anxious bundle of nerves after that encounter with Mary Lou. Percy calls for the person to enter, keeping a comforting hand on the younger man’s knee as Queenie Goldstein walks through the door wheeling a cart containing coffee and snacks.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Graves,” she starts with a bright smile, one that drops as soon as she sees Credence. “Oh Honey—“ she says softly, cart all but forgotten by the desk as she rushes over to them.

Percy observes quietly as the younger Goldstein sister swoops in to sit on the other side, taking Credence’s hand into her own.

“—Oh, I’m sure everything will get sorted out. Don’t you worry. If anyone can solve this it’s Mr. Graves.”

Puzzled, the younger man begins to speak, “Wh—“

“My name is Queenie,” she answers his cutoff question with a gentle smile, pulling a pink handkerchief from the front pocket of her dress to wipe at Credence’s tear tracks.

“Miss Goldstein...” Percy closes his eyes and prepares to reprimand her for being—well, Queenie, when his soulmate timidly speaks up.

“I-It’s okay,” he assures Percy, snubbing repetitively in response to the intense crying that happened moments earlier, taking the older man’s hand into his own to give it a weak squeeze.

“If you’re sure—“ he murmurs, returning the gesture before ignoring Queenie’s squeal of delight when he kisses Credence on the forehead.

Percy tell them he needs to check on something, hesitantly leaving Credence in Queenie’s care to search for Fontaine in the bullpen. He finds the man quietly writing a report at his desk, instructing him to leave it for the time being to find and bring the Second Salmers file to him. He’s only gone for a minute before he reappears with the ridiculously tiny file in hand.

“Don’t know what you need this for boss, there’s hardly anything in there,” Fontaine drawls, handing over the folder before tucking his hands into his trouser pockets.

With a hum Percy flips the file open, “What are you working on right now?”

“Just a report on our Blind Pig interviews. Was signing off on them before I brought them to you.”

“Finish signing them as quickly as possible, I have something important I need you to do for me,” He states, skimming the first document.

“You got it, sir.”

The man was right, there’s not much in the file aside from information on the organization, its members and a brief summary of of their sermons and meetings. He openly sneers when he comes across a photo of Mary Lou. The picture were taken from a distance, cataloguing her as the founder. There wouldn’t be pictures of Credence or the other two since they weren’t considered to be a threat.

There’s a brief profile for each person, Credence’s stating his name and suspected age along with the role he plays for the Second Salemers. The two girls are the same, with the longest description belonging to Barebone herself—even then there’s not much aside from every noted meeting she’s had in order to keep track of her magical knowledge. She’s not dangerous enough to be high on their radar but she is enough of a security threat to be flagged to make sure she isn’t going to attempt to expose the wizarding world.

Mary Lou has tried in earnest but her and The New Salem Philanthropic Society has always been viewed as insane by her fellow no-maj. She’s not taken seriously nor has she ever been; how she’s managed to gain followers is beyond Percy.

The closest she’s ever come to providing evidence was when she stood outside of the Woolworth building raving about the witches and wizards who “work right under our noses,” preaching to anyone who would stop and listen as she viciously pointed at the entrance. It was in vain because MACUSA has the entryway specifically set up to allow those of magical blood to pass through and those who are not simply see a no-maj office building.

Picquery decided to play it safe and requested her group vacate the area under the pretense of unlawful gathering. Thankfully the no-majs that worked in the Woolworth building requested the same of their law enforcement and the meeting was swiftly disbanded. How she knew the exact location of MACUSA was speculated but never investigated.

That’s something Percy planned on changing.

He lowers the file when he spots Tina Goldstein enter, waving her over once their eyes meet.

“I’ve got an assignment for you,” he states as the woman approaches.

“Sir?”

Percy hands her the case file which she looks at skeptically, “The Second Salemers?”

“Mary Lou Barebone. I need you to tail her. Find out what she does when she’s not at that fanatical church of hers and report back any strange or unusual activities.”

“Am I looking for anything in particular?”

“I want to know everything. Got it?”

“Sir.” Goldstein takes the file when dismissed and leaves the bullpen. Percy does the same, exiting into the short hall and into his office where he finds Credence curled up asleep with his head resting on Queenie’s lap as she hums softly, combing her fingers through his dark hair. The sight is enough to squeeze his already constricted heart and he has to stop for a moment to get a hold on his emotions.

The younger Goldstein lifts her face at the quiet click when Percy closes the door, her eyes bright and shining with unshed tears as she looks at him.

“He’s suffered so much in his short life—” she whispers sadly, reaching up to swipe a tear just as it rolls down her cheek, “—his mind is so loud. I can see it all.” Queenie’s bottom lip trembles when she glances back down at the sleeping man, running a trembling thumb across his tense brow. Even in sleep it seems his soulmate can’t escape the pain.

Percy sighs softly, remorseful for the young woman and her gift of natural legilimency. He can’t begin to fathom the kind of horrors she’s seen in Credence’s head. More like a curse than a gift, he thinks. 

“It’s not been easy for him, that’s for sure,” he murmurs as he walks to the cart, helping himself to the coffee that rests there, “How is he?”

“Stressed. Scared,” Queenie replies in a hushed tone, careful to not wake the man, “That woman is vile,” she adds, surprising Percy with the amount of disgust in her voice when she spoke.

Percy nods quietly, filling a paper cup before taking a sip, “I can personally attest to that.”

Queenie glances at him with her lips pursed, “Think you can get those girls out of there?”

“I damn well intend to,” he replies with finality.

Even if it costs him his job. No one deserves to live under the same roof as that beast.

_________________________________________  
Credence  
* * * * *

Credence is torn from a fitful sleep by a sudden commotion. He jolts upright and out of the nice lady’s lap—Miss Queenie, who shockingly enough can read minds—his eyes wide as he instantly goes into alert mode. Percy is back, stalking from his desk to the door to swing it open. He’s not sure what possesses him to do it but Credence jumps up and rushes to the door as well, stopping just behind the older man’s shoulder to peer past into the hall.

He makes it just in time to see a scruffy middle-aged man sprinting from the direction of the bullpen. He’s also there just in time to watch Percy casually flick his wrist at the man who goes down hard, like he’s just tripped over an invisible rope. The runner makes a loud grunt when he smashes face-first into the tiles and slides across the floor, his arms are quickly wrenched behind his back by an unseen force.

Three Aurors round the corner with a shout, surging forward to snatch the man up. Mr. Fontaine is one of them and he’s wearing a bitter frown.

“James Bray,” Percy drawls, crossing his arms as he watches the man being lifted to his feet.

“I ain’t done nothin’!” James squawks, licking at blood on his bottom lip and only smearing it. It makes his stomach churn to see the man actively sucking the crimson from his busted lip so Credence looks away from his face.

“Is that so?” His soulmate inquires mockingly.

“We apprehended him trying to buy Polyjuice,” An Auror Credence hasn’t met declares with a roll of his eyes.

Percy huffs softly, “Nothing, huh?”

“Where’s yer proof!?” James crows, sending blood-tinged spittle flying.

“Get him out of here,” the older man orders, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

As the bloodied man is hauled back towards the bullpen Credence notices his wrist, furrowing his brow in confusion, “Is...is he a no-maj?”

Percy vanishes the streak of blood from the floor before turning to look at Credence, “He’s a Squib,” he states, coaxing the younger man back into the office so he can shut the door.

“Squid?” He jumps when Queenie giggles from where she stands by the cart pouring a cup of water, which she then offers to him. 

He nearly forgot she was there.

The older man chuckles softly, eyes fond as he looks at Credence. “Not squid. Squib. A person of magical ancestry that cannot perform magic.”

“Oh...Is that why h-he didn’t have a timer or a mark?” Credence drinks down the entire cup before Queenie takes it from him, tossing it in the bin beside the desk when he declines a refill.

“That is correct—“ Percy replies smoothly, opening his mouth to say something else before he pauses, blinking rapidly and pursing his lips as if he’s just thought of something important.

“C’mon, I have that friend I’d like you to meet,” he says with a warm smile.

“Oh, he’ll like that you called him that,” Queenie says with a tinkling giggle, placing a cup of coffee on the man’s desk before pulling out her wand to cast some sort of spell over it.

“What did I tell you about reading my mind?” The older man asks, narrowing his eyes.

“You know I can’t help it. Normally you’re like a brick wall but sometimes thoughts slip through,” she makes a whistling noise and gestures with her hand.

Percy frowns, “Well, at least ‘pretend’ like you can’t hear them or I’ll ban you from this department permanently.”

“Okay okay, I got it. I ain’t heard nothing.” She mumbles and lifts her hands in a placating manner.

“Better. Keep practicing—and get the hell out of my office,” he tells Queenie with a scowl but winks at her as he places a hand on Credence’s back and guides him out of the room.

They walk the short distance to the bullpen where Percy leads him to an empty desk—perhaps the friend is away at the moment? He’s confused until the older man keeps walking, directing them around the desk where he spots a ragged-looking suitcase.

“The dragon,” Credence whispers to himself, eyes going wide as he watches Percy bend down to knock on the closed lid three times.

How the hell can a dragon fit in a suitcase?

He startles when the lid suddenly pops open followed by a head full of wild red hair poking above the lip to glance at them with squinted eyes.

“Oh, hello Mr. Graves,” the man speaks with a gentle British accent while warm hazel eyes appraise them and Credence is fairly certainly that out of all of the things he’s seen in the last two days this by far is the strangest to him.

“May we come down?” Percy inquires politely, gazing at Credence for a moment before looking back at the head, which blinks up in confusion.

“I—Sure, certainly. I was just making my rounds.”

The man’s head disappears back into the case and he’s now able to see a bit past the lip and into what appears to be a room. Percy ushers him forward with a reassuring smile, telling him it’s alright and to mind his step on the way down. Credence hesitantly shuffles up to the case and turns to face the older man, accepting his proffered hand before sticking a leg down inside to steady his foot on a rung.

The rung of a ladder. That leads to a room. Inside of a suitcase. Where a dragon supposedly resides.

Credence really wishes he had a camera to record all of this.

With Percy’s help the young man manages to descend the ladder one step at a time until his shoes hit a solid hardwood floor. Credence steps off to the side and balks at the shack he’s standing in. 

It’s a small room that’s absolutely cluttered, but in a sort of “controlled chaos” kind of way. There’s shelves lined with bottles, jars and vials as well as separate ones that house a variety of well-loved books, based on the condition of their spines. Every surface is covered—papers, notebooks and quills (he didn’t even realize people still USED quills) and strange plants that appear to be—alive. 

Plants of all shapes, sizes and colors along with what looks to be a myriad of fresh and dried herbs—basically a botanists wet dream—and the fact that some of them are actually swaying on their own both terrifies and excites Credence.

Though the tiny shed-like room is filled to the brim with numerous objects and plants, it’s cozy and clean, the floors free of any items or debris—recently swept by the look of it. There’s also an earthy scent that he immediately finds soothing, like the smell of fresh, wet soil and something that he could compare to tree sap.

A soft chittering near his feet causes Credence to jump, but Percy is there beside him to place a comforting hand on the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe in here.”

“What is that?” He croaks, scrambling to find the source of the noise.

“Oh, that’s just Hugo,” the Englishman states with a crooked smile, jotting something down into one of the notebooks with a quill, “My niffler. Mischievous little bugger.”

Credence blinks, turning his gaze to look at his soulmate, “What’s a niffler?” He whispers, eyes scanning the floor in a desperate attempt to locate whatever the hell a niffler is.

Percy laughs, lips quirked in an amused smile, “I think introductions are in order.”

That’s how Credence meets Newt Scamander, a magizoologist that works at MACUSA as a consultant, who is bonded with Tina Goldstein, the woman he met yesterday. He also learns that they met when she arrested him for trying to break into their evidence room to free creatures kept on stasis. Love at first sight, the man recalled fondly.

Credence learns that a niffler is a small platypus-like creature that has an affinity for shiny things or a “No good thieving little shit,” as Percy bluntly put it, much to Newt’s chagrin.

“He’s not that bad,” the redhead insists.

“Check his pouch right now and tell me something of mine isn’t in it,” Percy challenges with a firm stare.

“Maybe don’t carry so many shiny things?”

He got to see the creature first hand when the Englishman snatched it up and turned it upside down by its feet, shaking it out like a towel on laundry day. Credence was perplexed by the amount of stuff that came pouring out of this little animal—piles of the strange wizard currency along with quarters, nickels and dimes—bracelets, necklaces, shoe buckles and watches (one of which did indeed belong to Percy), shiny buttons and pens, a golden nameplate, a pair of diamond cuff links, a ring that supposedly belongs to Madam President, and a huge bejeweled photo frame—how it managed to get that into its pouch is beyond him.

Magic, he presumes. That seems to be the answer to everything around here.

After the introductions are out of the way and Hugo’s pilfered items have been accounted for Percy asks Newt if he wouldn’t mind showing Credence around the case, telling the other man that he needs to take care of something important and doesn’t want to leave his soulmate by himself the whole time. When the man agrees Percy leans in to inform him that Credence is new to the wizarding world so he’s likely never seen anything within the case before—“Be gentle,” he ordered.

“I saw a unicorn yesterday,” Credence admits breathlessly, excited by the prospect of seeing more mythical creatures.

Newt gives Percy a bewildered look, one that he turns on Credence with a silent question before blinking several times and nodding.

“Unicorns are darlings so long as you’re pure,” he explains with a smile, waving Percy on with the flutter of his hand, “You go take care of your business, Credence will be just fine with me.”

He’s thankful when the Englishman gives them a moment, turning back to his notes and sketches so Percy can bend down to give him a chaste kiss.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just listen to what Scamander says, and please—don’t put your fingers near any of the creatures mouths,” his soulmate pleads with a grimace.

“Oh shoo, get out of here—he’s safe with me,” Newt frowns, swatting Percy towards the ladder. The man glares but allows himself to be herding towards the exit, turning to cast one more wistful look at Credence before he climbs the rungs, disappearing at the top with a soft thunk as the lid closes. 

Newt claps his hands together, turning to Credence with a vibrant grin, “So. Ever seen a Runespoor?”

He wrinkles his brows, “Is that a plant?”

“Oh no, not even close,” the man chuckles.

_________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

Goldstein is on him as soon as Percy climbs out of the case, “Mr. Graves! I was looking for you everywhere, sir!” She exclaims, practically vibrating with energy as she runs up to him.

“What have you got?”

With his hands folded behind his back Percy listens to the older Goldstein debrief him of her findings. How she went to the church and followed Mary Lou to the no-maj laundromat beside the entrance to Dragon Street, where she then met up with James Bray, the same man they have in custody. She couldn’t make out what was said, only that they spoke briefly before parting ways—not long before Bray was arrested for trying to purchase a staggering amount of Polyjuice potion. Goldstein then informed him that she returned to the church and hasn’t left since.

“Do you think Bray is an informant?” She asks in a hushed tone.

“That’s what I’m about to find out. Good job, Goldstein. Keep trailing her and report back if you notice anything else,” he instructs.

“Yes sir.”

With her dismissal, Percy turns to approach Weiss at her desk, requesting she prepare one of the interrogation room for James Bray and to have his file brought up. The woman nods before briskly walking off to fulfill her assigned task.

If his theory is correct then all of the dots should start to connect themselves after this interview.

Stopping by his office to drink the coffee Queenie left for him, Percy waits for the confirmation that Bray is ready. He takes a moment to sit at his desk and go over everything Goldstein has told him about Mary Lou Barebone and her meeting with a known criminal—a connection to the wizarding world.

It isn’t uncommon for Squibs to fall into a life of crime, caught between two worlds, one of which isn’t particularly accepting. Most take on a quiet no-maj life, integrating into their society rather than being snubbed by witches and wizards who view them as second-class citizens just because they can’t do magic. It’s sad but it happens frequently.

Those that remain either take up smaller jobs like herbologists or breeding creatures—or play mule to the underground world of dark arts, most often transporting illegal potions and wares for witches and wizards or selling said items to no-majs.

Sadly that leads to the tragic loss of lives on both sides half of the time.

How does Mary Lou Barebone, the zealot leader of The New Salemers fit into all of this? Percy has a hunch—one that makes him uneasy when he thinks about it.

He’s drawn from his thoughts when Weiss knocks on the door to inform him that Bray is ready, walking over to his desk to hand him the man’s thick file. With a heavy sigh he thanks her before tossing back the rest of his coffee and dropping the paper cup into the trash, tucking the folder under his arm as he stands to adjust his waistcoat.

He’ll have answers soon.

*

When Percy arrives to the interrogation room he peeks through the one-way glass to find James Bray sitting with his back to the door, arms magically bound behind him. Before Weiss left she told him they left the man to sweat for thirty minutes and apologized for the delay.

It’s a handy tactic, even used in no-maj law enforcement, to aid in the extraction of information. Most times it makes the suspect crack faster, sitting in a bland room beneath dim lighting by themselves for an extended period of time. Especially those like the man seated by himself right now.

James Bray has known crime all of his life, being recruited at the tender age of eleven by Gnarlack himself, though the goblin vehemently denies it. Unfortunately they could never get the truth out of him, seeing as he’s immune to Veritaserum.

Bray on the other hand? Not so lucky.

Percy enters the room on silent feet, relishing in the sharp intake of breath and subsequent curse that follows when the director startles him.

“Mercy Lewis, Graves! Can’t knock?” The man complains in a thick New York accent.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Percy asks with a pleasant smile.

“You just like makin’ people squirm, don’cha?” Bray hisses and narrows his eyes as he watches Percy round the table and place the file down.

“I’ll admit that it does bring me some satisfaction.”

When he sits the man tilts his head and scoffs, “Ya’ll can’t hold me—I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

Percy huffs out a laugh and flips the file open, “You tried to buy Polyjuice off of an undercover Auror,” he replies, raising a brow in amusement.

Bray slouches in his seat and blinks dumbly at the wall behind the other man’s head, “Oh...”

“Oh.” Percy repeats with a mocking expression, staring at James briefly before glancing back down at the reports before him. He flips to the most recent entry before glancing back up.

“Who’s the Polyjuice for, Bray?” He questions evenly while lifting one of the pages to read the undercover Auror’s statement.

When all he receives is silence Percy quirks a brow and looks at the scruffy man. It’s like the other is trying to check out, staring blankly at the wall past him. That just won’t do.

“Not too keen on talking, huh? Should I go ahead and put in a request for Veritaserum?” He asks with an expectant look. That does the trick.

“M-my cousin. Wanted me ta get some for him, didn’ say why.” Bray stutters out nervously, his grey eyes looking everywhere except for Percy.

“Your cousin wanted—“Percy reads quietly to himself while he checks the file, “—thirty vials of Polyjuice? Really Bray? C’mon...” he scoffs, shooting the man an unbelieving expression, “You really can’t think that I’m that stupid.”

“It’s true!” He insists, pulling against his bonds.

Percy stares at the man and shakes his head, “Why am I having a hard time believing you?”

“It’s the TRUTH. Look, Graves...I owed him a favor.”

“Sooo this will hold up when we give you the serum...?” He asks, propping his head against the heel of his hand.

“T-there ain’t no need fo-for serum...” There’s an awful lot of stuttering for someone who “ain’t done nothin.’

“Then tell me the truth,” Percy says in a calm voice without blinking, playing a staring contest he knows he’ll win.

“I AM!” Bray shouts, leaning forward to give a vicious sneer.

The man flinches back when Percy suddenly shoots up from his chair and slams his hands down hard on top of the file, the noise echoing loudly throughout the small room.

“WHO WERE YOU BUYING THE POTIONS FOR!?” Percy booms—The Director making his appearance. He dares to lean forward and get in Bray’s face, his own a stoic mask as he challenges; a stark contrast to the vocal bomb he just set off in the room.

“My cousin,” James whispers, blinking owlishly as Percy draws back with an annoyed huff.

“So we’re really going to play that game?” He asks rhetorically before straightening his posture and walking around the table to the door. Bray strains his back to watch Percy knock on the glass and lean against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting. It takes a moment but the door opens and in walks Weiss carrying a clear vial trailed by Abernathy who is armed with a clipboard. The man transfigures a chair before sitting down in the corner to act as an official witness, pen uncapped and at the ready.

Bray sputters, eyes going wide when he spots the potion, “T-this ain’t legal! You can’t do this!”

Percy chuckles darkly and swiftly strides across the room to sit in front of the bound man once more, “Oh, I can assure you that this is legal. MACUSA reserves the right to administer Veritaserum to individuals during questioning to validate the authenticity of alibis and claims—but if you have concerns, by all means feel free to speak with Mr. Abernathy over there—“he states with a smirk, pointing to the man in the corner, “—he has all of the proper documentation for this procedure.”

As if to prove it the seated man offers a friendly smile before presenting a thick packet, “Want to read it?” 

When Bray opens and closes his mouth several times without answering Percy nods for Weiss to give the man the serum. He fights a bit at the beginning but relaxes when The Director gets an iron grip on his jaw in warning, smiling sweetly as the potion is forced down his throat with Abernathy off in the corner scratching away his observation.

“I hate that we had to do it this way,” He coos, clicking his tongue as the last of the serum is swallowed. Percy releases the man’s face and gently pats his shoulder before sitting back down.

It takes roughly five minutes for the potion to take effect so Percy bides his time, making sure Abernathy has everything documented before they further proceed with the interrogation.

When the man’s eyes take on a glossy sheen he speaks, “For the record, what is your full name?”

“James Patrick Bray,” the man replies robotically, his receding hairline dotted with sweat.

Percy nods, “—and were you at Dragon Street today to allegedly purchase thirty vials of Polyjuice Potion for your cousin?”

“No,” is the mechanical answer.

Didn’t need Veritaserum to know that.

“Who were the potions for?” Percy murmurs, resting his chin against his knuckles as he waits for the man to respond.

“I don’t know her name.” Bingo.

“Tell me what you do know.”

*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m soooo sorry it’s taken me forever to update. Please forgive me? Nice long chapter <3
> 
> *Sexual Content*

Credence  
* * * * *

When Percy exits the case Newt explains a bit more about what he does as a magizoologist and excitedly describes all of the different habitats and enclosures that he’ll see today. His eyes must give away the shock he’s currently experiencing because the Englishman gently asks him how “new” he is to the wizarding world. When he sheepishly mentions that he only just discovered that he’s a wizard yesterday Newt stares at him in stunned silence.

Thankfully the other man spares him from questioning, simply blinking in disbelief before clearing his throat to inform him about all of the various creatures, assuring the younger man that none of them are dangerous, just misunderstood.

Much like himself, he thinks.

When the magizoologist finally opens the door leading outside of the shack and into the heart of the suitcase, Credence nearly falls to his knees in awe. Not only is there an entire other WORLD within a battered SUITCASE, but it’s alive and thriving with some of the most exotic plants and animals he has ever seen before. His eyes go huge and his head swivels back and forth rapidly as he attempts to soak everything in at once. For example, moving merrily along just outside the door are several giant dung beetles, each rolling their own respective balls of giant waste to add to a free-standing structure. 

They pay him no mind, going about their building as Credence slowly spins around in a circle to inspect the area. The Englishman waves him over, past an empty stone platform that he wistfully explains used to house a Thunderbird named Frank. The man tells him how he and Tina traveled to Arizona to release the once trafficked creature and how they plan to return during the monsoon season to visit him.

What’s a Thunderbird? Oh, just a huge six-winged avian creature that can create storms as it flies and sense danger. A totally normal thing.

He’s led to a vast desert, the charmed flaps surrounding it waving gracefully in the fabricated breeze as Newt cups his hands around his mouth to shout out a strange animalistic noise. Credence squints, staring off into the distance in search of the occupants.

“Here they come,” Newt announces cheerfully to the sound of thunderous galloping. He’s opening his mouth to ask “where” when he suddenly spots a small herd of gigantic beasts running directly towards them. He cries out in surprise and tries to shuffle back, only for the man to gingerly grab his arm and hold him in place.

“S’alright,” he’s reassured and given one of those crooked smiles as the monstrous creatures approach at full sprint. 

Credence whimpers low in his throat but remains still, trusting the magizoologist to know what he’s doing.

Graphorns, the last mating pair in existence, Newt helpfully informs him when they slow to an elegant trot. They’re absolutely HUGE, like colossal horses with squirming tentacles on their faces and long quills atop their heads. The largest lovingly caresses Newt’s face in greeting while the smaller one, the female he presumes, examines Credence curiously. She’s easily as big as a bus, from tentacled snout to the tip of her tail. Two smaller Graphorns, still quite large, bravely emerge from behind their mother to check him out as well, circling the younger man in exploration.

He lets out a nervous giggle when the female’s tentacles tickle the back of his neck and behind his ear, and he hesitantly reaches out to stroke her thick, rough neck when Newt gives him an approving nod.

From there he’s shown the Niffler’s burrow, which subsequently resides within Alison’s rocky perch. 

Who is Alison? 

Credence had asked that question while he scratched Hugo’s belly and was swiftly answered by an enormous spiked feline that took a playful swipe at his head, only reflexively managing to dodge it with a startled shout.

“The Nundu.”

“T-that’s a really big cat,” Credence comments weakly and swallows hard.

The Englishman throws his head back and laughs with a bright smile, “That she is. She’s really quite a doll. Aren’t you Alice?” He coos lovingly at the massive beast and receives a near deafening purr in response. 

He doesn’t know whether to feel intrigued or terrified, seeing as she looks like she’d be delighted to take another swipe at him.

Alison flops down and allows her giant paws to hang over the edge of the perch lazily as she watches Credence with rapt attention. 

“She’s not gonna eat Hugo is she?” He asks anxiously, concerned for the Niffler’s well-being. She’s not gonna eat ME, he thinks about asking as well, but suppresses that urge.

“Oh Merlin, no—believe it or not they get along splendidly.”

“That’s a fun-sized snack for her,” Credence murmurs to himself, feeling as though he’s standing on wooden legs while he examines the incredible creature. 

They walk to the next habitat and he startles when what appears to be a green stick pops up from beneath Newt’s collar. The creature turns its tiny eyes towards him and chirrups softly, tilting its head as if to ask “Who are you?”

“Uh, you’ve got a—“ Credence points at the moving twig.

Next glances at him with his brows raised, following the direction of his finger with a chuckle.

“Oh, this is Pickett,” he introduces cheerfully, allowing the creature to step onto the back of his hand before extending it for Credence to get a better look, “He’s a Bowtruckle. They’re known for their skill with picking locks and are highly sought after because of it.”

“Pickett...ohh! “Pick-It,” that’s clever,” smiling, he leans in closer only to have a raspberry blown in his face.

It’s incredibly adorable.

“Well I’m glad somebody else thinks so,” Newt exclaims, lifting his hand to drop the creature onto his own shoulder, “Tina said it was cheesy.”

Newt takes him to see several other creatures; the Erumpent, Diricawl, Occamies, Mooncalves (living Beanie Boos that crowded around Credence begging for attention), the Runespoor—which Newt failed to mention was a giant three-headed snake. Thankfully they were more interested in the bucket of meat the Englishman brought along than they were with him. Small blessings.

Halfway through the tour a white monkey with large eyes suddenly appeared directly beside him out of nowhere, causing Credence to startle so badly he stumbled into a tree. Dougal the Demiguise, Newt told him, and even went on to say that it was rare for the creature to show himself around strangers, much less take their hand and remain visible.

Dougal stays with them up until the last enclosure, where he pats Credence on the arm before disappearing. 

When Newt pulls the tent flap aside and ushers him in his breath hitches. Before they made it here the redhead explained that this species of dragon is a Hungarian Horntail and are often known to be the most aggressive. It’s not dangerous, Newt told him, as long as you treat him with respect.

It’s huge, but supposedly a juvenile, so it hasn’t fully matured yet. When they enter the enclosure they find it curled up against a boulder with its tail wrapped snugly around itself. The crunch of their shoes on the volcanic gravel of the habitat alerts the dragon to their arrival, and it lifts its massive head to stare at them, a low growl slicing through the silence like a gunshot.

“It’s alright,” Newt says, and at first Credence thinks he’s speaking to the beast until he feels a gentle hand touch his bicep, “He won’t harm you, just try not to make any sudden movements.”

“O-okay,” Credence whispers, swallowing hard as he slowly follows the Englishman into the habitat.

The Horntail raises its head and unwinds its body, stretching its great spiked neck and back as it extends to its full height. Credence hunches down on himself when it roars but Newt pulls him forward with quiet words of reassurance, not one speck of fear shown on the man’s face or in his posture.

“He’s a vocal fellow, don’t let that scare you.”

Credence is more concerned with the long, pointed teeth glistening with saliva more than the sounds, but for whatever reason he trusts Newt and allows himself to be held in place. With a firm squeeze the man let’s go and approaches the beast, arm raised in a placating gesture, and to Credence’s shock, begins to rub its snout and neck as if it were a giant dog.

The dragon positively melts for him.

How does a beast like this, a massive dragon, survive unnoticed by the non-magical world? How does ANY of this remain hidden just below unsuspecting noses and thrive? Of course, there are myths on dragons, unicorns, and other fantastic creatures, but that’s exactly what they are and always have been. Myths. 

Now, before him—breathing, living, and snarling—is a proof that rocks Credence to his very foundation. 

What more has he been unaware of?

“Come say hello,” is the enthusiastic instruction that sends him spiraling out of his floating reveries.

“I’m sorry, do what?”

“C’mere, but slowly,” the Englishman directs, one hand placed flat against the dragon’s broad chest and the other calmly waving him over, “Just try not to make any sudden movements, if you don’t mind.” He’s reminded with a crooked smile.

Credence eyes the duo skeptically, “I don’t think that’s such a good—“

“Oh it’s quite alright. He’s a sweetheart, trust me.”

That’s about the time said “sweetheart” decides to vocalize, its neck dipped low as it bellows. Credence just barely remembers the “no sudden movements” request and forces his hands to remain still at his sides instead of instinctively slapping them over his ears to block out the immense noise. Newt doesn’t seem at all bothered by it, only offering a gentle grin while continuing to coax him closer.

“He’s just curious about you, s’all.” One more quick flutter of the hand has the younger man taking a deep breath before cautiously approaching. 

With each careful step he takes towards the dragon, conscious of how it watches his every move, Credence doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even so much as blink. His body is trembling so intensely, from both fear and adrenaline, he supposes, that it’s making his teeth chatter and he’s certain that it can be heard clearly throughout the rest of the case. When the great beast snorts, he freezes, muscles locking up, and he knows he must look like a deer caught in the headlights. Like a rabbit frozen in terror before the salivating jaws of a predator.

Like a stupid human approaching a fire-breathing dragon.

Newt simply hums in encouragement, taking mercy on what must be a shivering mess, to meet Credence halfway and escort him to the dragon calmly. They’re nearly there when the creature flaps its wings and he has to be aided with a firm arm around his shoulder the rest of the way lest he collapse due to the rapid weakening of his knees.

It tilts its head, curious, and scents the air with several forceful exhalations that’s strong enough to scatter the gravel about at their feet. The sound is similar to that of a horse, only amplified, and it’s that thought that Credence weakly clings to as Newt gently takes hold of his wrist to guide it in front of the dragon’s beaked snout. At this close distance the spikes on and surrounding the creature’s head appear like quills that one might find on a porcupine, only much, much larger. Even with its wide jaws currently shut the teeth are still visible and it stirs in him a queasiness that’s just begun to make his stomach curdle as the dragon jerkily surges forward to sniff his trembling hand.

“All good,” Newt croons in a soft voice; whether it’s for the dragon or him, he’s not sure.

Closing his eyes, Credence allows himself to be sniffed, and at one point, nudged roughly this way and that, which Newt is quick to inform him is a great sign, and that he is perfectly safe. 

Oh how he hopes he’s right.

When a rough trilling sound takes place of the hurricane of pounding breaths and snorts, he cracks open an eye and gasps softly. The dragon is still as fearsome in appearance as before, only its posture is much different. No longer does he tower over the two men, instead he’s lying on his belly before Credence with an almost intrigued cocking of his massive head, eyes transfixed and expectant.

The Englishman is outright beaming and, still holding the others wrist, he guides them both to kneel before the Horntail, placing Credence’s palm to rest easily on the beaked snout.

The moment is so intense and overwhelming that he nearly cries at the wonder of it. It’s magnificent. It’s unbelievable. It’s the second most magical thing he’s experienced, next to his timer hitting zero. 

The rough, yet smooth textured surface beneath his palm is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He can vaguely compare it to bone, but there’s much more complex definition to it that makes it entirely unique. 

Newt must sense the shift from fear to fascination because he releases Credence’s arm to cross his own and observe the shy introductions with a fond smile.

“He likes you,” Newt announces with a tiny grin and warm, creased eyes that speak of his approval at their first interaction, “Hungarian Horntails have this rather unfair reputation for being the most aggressive species of dragon, but really they just need a bit of respect and understanding,” his smile increases when the creature nudges at Credence’s cheek affectionately, drawing a startled laugh from the younger man as he’s suddenly pushed over.

“I think we all need a bit of that, don’t you?”

Staring this massive beast in the eye he thinks he can agree with that. Most beings, whether man or beast, can too quickly be mislabeled.

Yes, everyone deserves a bit of both.

Laughter, light and free, erupts in peals where he lies sprawled on the rocky ground of the enclosure with what is essentially an overgrown, scaly puppy equipped with deadly teeth struggling to get into his lap to nuzzle him. It could almost be a dream in its ridiculousness, yet he can feel the hot breaths against his neck, can hear the rough trills, feel this creature’s purr rumbling strong against his body and he knows. He knows even his wildest dreams could never be this vivid. This intense.

This amazing.

A strangled noise draws both men and beast’s attention to the entrance of the habitat, and when Credence turns his head he finds Percy standing there clutching the canvas flap with one hand and his chest with the other, expression shocked and complexion pale, as if he’s just seen a ghost.

He looks like he’s on the verge of getting sick.

“The dragon, Scamander!? I thought you were just going to show him the mooncalves!” The man says in a voice caught between a croak and yell while still gripping the enchanted backdrop like a lifeline. It’s possible that’s the only thing keeping him up, Credence thinks to himself.

“To be fair we DID go see the Mooncalves,” Newt replies innocently as he pats the beast’s flank, earning a pleased purr, “And what’s wrong with Arnold? He’s a sweet boy,” the Englishman adds defensively, hazel eyes falling on the happy reptile with open adoration.

“Okay, One: You just called a HUNGARIAN HORNTAIL a “sweet boy,” and Two: Arnold??”

“He also took me to see Larry.” Credence pipes up breathlessly in his excitement, easing the dragon back with a gentle push so he can stand and dust himself off. Arnold nudges at him insistently, and with a soft chuckle he relents, continuing to lavish the large beast with attention.

His soulmate blanches, swaying minutely as his knees visibly tremble.

“The Runespoor???” Percy croaks, eyes going wide as saucers, “You took Credence to see—Oh, Morgana give me strength...” The older wizard releases the canvas flap to brace his hands on his knees, ducking his head between them to take in several shaky lungfuls of air.

“Mr. Graves doesn’t like snakes,” Newt leans in to whisper conversationally, resulting in a swift, dangerous glare from the director.

“Not the seven-foot, three-headed variety, no,” he grits out roughly, forehead beaded with sweat. The man’s posture relaxes slightly after Credence pats the dragon one last time, much to its disappointment, and joins him over at the opening. He’s immediately pulled in, held at arms length and looked over extensively, like Percy’s checking for any missing extremities, only being released with a broken sigh of relief when the man is satisfied that Credence is uninjured.

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly, warm eyes brimming with concern as they search his face. Newt scoffs in the background, muttering something about “over dramatic” and “big baby.”

“I’ve never been better,” Credence beams, “I met a dragon Percy!” He states in wonder, still caught in the high of the moment, as if the man didn’t just bear witness to the creature literally stretched out on top of him, and whatever Percy finds in his expression must be enough to soothe him because he sighs heavily but manages to crack a smile.

“Yes, I came down here just in time to see that...” he grimaces, followed by an utterance Credence can barely make out. Something along the lines of “should have known better” and “strangle Scamander.” Much too quiet to piece the whole sentence together but it certainly makes him chortle loud and an expression of mock-betrayal is thrown in his direction.

“Arnold is a sweet boy,” Credence parrots, the corner of his lip twitching when Percy groans.

“I’ll take your word for it,” the man’s dark eyes dubiously examine the Horntail as it growls and nuzzles at Newt’s neck and cheek.

“Let’s get you up to Registry for your photo before I have a damn stroke.”

*

Goodbyes are exchanged, with Credence enthusiastically thanking Newt for the tour around his suitcase and the Englishman in turn offering that he’s free to visit at any time. It’s hard for him not to laugh when Percy pulls a face at this offer, though his soulmate says nothing other than to thank Newt with a huff before guiding Credence to the little shack and up the ladder to emerge next to Tina’s desk.

The bullpen is relatively quiet as they exit the case and make their way out of the department, down the hall and to the lift where Red greets them with a tip of his hat. Percy tells the goblin they need to go to Registry, which is on the same floor as Wand Permits, he’s told, and just like that the carriage lurches and begins to descend.

“Your file is missing some key information, but based on your situation I think we might be able to get around that. That’s why I’d like for you to have your photograph added so we can speed the process along and get you officially registered.”

Credence gazes at the man and nods as he fiddles with the sleeve of his coat in a nervous manner.

“What happens then?”

The lift comes to a sudden jerky halt that makes the younger man startle, his heart slowly calming when Percy places a gentle hand on his shoulder and gives a light squeeze.

“Once you’ve been fully registered we’ll go to Dragon Street and you’ll get a wand.” He’s led out of the lift by the same hand sliding down to rest against the small of his back, almost possessively, and the heat from that large palm both grounds him and causes his pulse to flutter. It’s a touch that makes him feel safe while simultaneously driving him wild.

He wants to feel that hand touch him everywhere.

Flustered, Credence clears his throat and follows the older man past a series of doors, all the way down past the sign that says Wand Permits to one that reads Registry.

“Is it hard to get a wand?” He asks softly, allowing himself to be directed beneath the sign and into a small office where a dark haired woman with bright blue eyes smiles up at them when they enter.

“Not at all, though sometimes wands can be stubborn little things.”

Percy approaches the desk and informs the woman about the purpose of their visit. She nods before standing to walk to an isolated room, poking her head past the frame to speak to someone within.

“You say it as though they’re alive,” Credence murmurs, a shiver running up his spine from the point of contact when the man’s thumb begins to lightly stroke.

There’s a soft hum in response, “It’s said that “The wand chooses the wizard,” and even though they are tools used to focus a wizard’s magic, they still have a personality of their own. No two wands are ever the same, in fact.”

“Like a person.”

“Like a person,” Percy agrees with a soft smile. He snakes his hand back up to wrap an arm around Credence’s shoulder, “A wand is like an extension of the wizard when a connection is made. It could be the first one you pick up, or you’ll hold fifty in your hand before one so much as takes interest. It’s a beautiful, intimate experience and you’ll know when that connection is made.”

The way Percy gazes at him, affectionate and warm as he speaks creates a flutter of emotion within Credence, and it’s not difficult for him to gaze back. It’s like the man isn’t just talking about wands...

“Joel’s ready for him,” the blue eyed woman calls from across the room, interrupting their heated staring contest. Percy offers him one more smile—a gentle quirk to the corner of his lip, before ushering Credence around the main desk with his hand returning to the small of his back.

The kind touches are beginning to spoil him, for when Percy pulls his hand away to allow the photographer to move Credence into place, he has to school his features from a pout that threatens to surface. Percy’s not going anywhere, he reminds himself with a deep breath, glancing at the older man before stepping where Joel instructs, to stand in front of a navy blue sheet.

The camera looks like it was plucked straight out of the 1920s, being obnoxious in size and outdated in style, with a large handheld flash that nearly blinds him, the resounding ‘pop’ dominating all other sounds in the small room when it goes off. Spots dance before his eyes, and it takes Percy’s gentle grasp on his wrist to guide him around the desk once more and out of Registry.

“You know, if you had asked me the other day what witches used in their craft a camera would have never made that list.” He muses aloud and tries to rub the dancing dots from his vision.

This draws an amused rumble from the older man, his eyes crease handsomely as they walk back down the hall and towards the lift.

“Nor a stove or coffeemaker?” Percy hums.

“I imagined witches brewed their coffee in huge cauldrons,” Credence teases, preening when the man laughs heartily—a deep, lighthearted sound that he could easily listen to for the rest of his life.

“Only the pretentious ones,” is the cheeky reply he receives, his lips twitching into a shy smile at their banter. Everything about their bond feels right and perfect. The way he feels comfortable and safe with the man walking beside him. How it feels like they’ve known each other forever instead of days.

It feels like a part of him, the part he’s been missing his whole life, has been made of flesh and bone, alive and breathing, into a man that offers him soft, worshipful touches and reverent stares.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Percy gently nudges him into the awaiting lift, an amused smile on his face like he’s been reading Credence’s mind.

Suddenly feeling bashful he steps into the carriage, nodding briefly to Red and inhales deeply to steady himself. He’s hyperaware of the man sidling up next to him, from the sound of his breathing to the way their shoulders brush during the entirety of the ride. Even with the presence of clothing between their skin, the exhilarating spark birthed by their soulbond can still be felt, as if even fabric cannot keep it contained. The sensation was surely felt by the other man too, as he leans his shoulder heavily against Credence’s, seemingly chasing the charged contact. The shaky exhale next to his ear threatens to make his knees buckle.

“I’m done here for the day,” Percy says quietly, staring straight ahead as they fly by each floor at breakneck speed, “We’ll stop by Dragon Street before heading home.”

Home. This sends a warm, pleasant feeling to settle in his stomach next to the flap of butterfly wings.

“What are we going to Dragon Street for?” Credence asks just as softly, playing with a loose thread at the hem of his coat. The lift slows with a shrill grind to deliver them to the atrium of the main floor, where he can only just make out the dimming afternoon light beyond the enchanted skylight.

“You need clothes.” Percy replies evenly, placing his hand just below the man’s nape as they exit the carriage and walk towards the exit. It’s like he couldn’t stand not being able to touch the other at all times. That pleasant static spikes beneath Percy’s palm and he has to bite back a whimper at how good it feels.

Credence was opening his mouth to protest when those dark, expressive eyes suddenly narrow at him in a challenge. “This is one battle you won’t win,” Percy warns him in a whisper, the playful quirk of his lip contrasting with the molten authority of his gaze.

“I—uh, lead the way,” he manages to squeak out, both intimidated and riled up in a conflicting rush of emotions.

* 

Dragon Street is just as busy as it was the last time they walked these streets, only this time instead of being taken to Carmen’s Diner, Credence is guided further along the strip to a small shop with an ornate sign reading “Alterations by Aloysius” standing proudly out from the building.

A bell tinkles above them when they enter into a place seemingly snatched out of history, just as the camera had been. It’s old-fashioned, warm and tidy, with one wall dedicated entirely to a plethora of fabrics while another houses a variety of readymade clothing; button downs, suits, trousers, blazers, dresses, blouses; even expensive looking shoes and colorful elaborate hats in all styles, shapes and sizes, displayed proudly on mannequins.

There’s a long counter at the front and several large tables in the middle of the shop where several people work with wands to create beautiful garments, the materials performing an elegant ballet in the air as they stitch themselves together under the guidance of fluid arm movements.

It doesn’t take long before a short man with straight cropped raven hair approaches them with a brilliant smile and his arms wide in welcome.

“Director Percival Graves!” The man sing-songs, walking towards them in quick, short steps until he’s beaming up at the two, “My my, I hadn’t expected to see you again for another three months—but here you are,” the man turns his smile to Credence, interest flashing in his brown eyes, “—and with such a handsome fellow. My goodness, that bone structure is simply stunning...”

Percy clears his throat and wraps an arm around Credence’s shoulder, the gesture forcing him to look down so he doesn’t burst into laughter.

“Aloysius,” Percy mutters politely, clearly trying to maintain a semblance of manners, “It’s nice to see you again, although I’m not the client today,” he turns to Credence, “This is my soulmate, Credence Barebone, and he’s in need of a new wardrobe.”

The man before them positively lights up, almond shaped eyes going wide with delight as he examines the younger man from head to toe. The intense scrutiny is enough to make him shift from foot to foot, but Percy is there to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“Why Percival, you do know how to brighten my day,” Aloysius chirps and extends a hand to Credence, shaking enthusiastically when he accepts it, before continuing to take in the man’s frame, “Aloysius Castor. It is a pleasure to meet you, young man.”

He manages to get out a soft “hello” before he’s suddenly hauled around the counter and to the back, the short man talking excitedly.

“So you need a new wardrobe, I can fix that. We have a large stock of different fabrics, imports and US made, to create just about anything your heart desires.” Aloysius beams, releasing Credence’s hand to fumble through a rack filled with many beautiful patterned swatches, all far too expensive, from the looks of them, than anything he’s ever touched before. He tosses a pleading look in Percy’s direction as the man rushes to catch up with them.

“You can go off of my previous orders,” he instructs, brushing his fingertips along Credence’s back on his journey to the premade section hanging on the wall, “—And some of these, as well.”

The tailor smiles, and with a nod he whips out his wand, performing elegant motions to guide a tape measure to dance around Credence, startling the young man with its sudden appearance. 

“Let’s get you sized, handsome,” Aloysius winks, laughing boisterously at the sharp glare this earns him, “Oh do lighten up, Percival, it was a compliment.” 

*

Fifteen minutes shy of an hour finds them leaving the shop with a bag containing several pairs of trousers and shirts, a shiny pair of black oxfords, a few ties and a black double-breasted winter coat. Credence doesn’t know how wizard currency translates to American no-maj currency, but he doesn’t need that knowledge to know that Percy laid down a small fortune on that counter. Just the thought of how much money was spent on him makes a lump form, tight and uncomfortable in his throat.

Oh, he had tried to reason with the man, stating that it was all too much, but each plea was met with a stubborn frown and knitted brows. “You need clothes, Credence,” Percy had firmly insisted, blessedly not bringing up the reason for his lack of wardrobe.

He hadn’t even thought to gather any at the time, though he doubts Mary Lou would have allowed it. She had been adamant about him leaving then and there.

Now he stares down guiltily at the bags in his hands, at the expensive coat on his shoulders, much warmer than the threadbare one that Percy happily tossed into the trash on their way out; to Percy, gentle as always, while he navigates through the late afternoon crowd and into Carmen’s Diner for the second time that week to make sure he’s fed.

It’s all too much, but Credence can’t help but grasp these in his mind greedily. A man that’s willing—no—insistent upon taking care of him. A man that wishes to provide him with food, shelter and warm clothes. With protection and...

His mind spins with these thoughts, with how overwhelming they are, and it takes every fiber of his being to distract himself with the menu that is placed into his hands. Credence conjures a smile for the man sitting beside him in the booth in an attempt to chase away his concerned expression.

It seems to work, if only for the moment, as a polite house-elf named Taynard takes their order.

Their beverages are brought out, along with their meal, appearing in front of them some time later, and Percy talks in a soothing voice to tell Credence that he believes they’ll be able to get his sisters out of the church soon, based on what he knows about Mary Lou and what he witnessed earlier that afternoon. He chokes down a spoonful of macaroni and cheese, hardly tasting it as the man continues to talk.

He realizes he’s zoned out when a warm hand rests itself gently against his own.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said everything is going to be okay,” Percy murmurs, drawing his thumb carefully across Credence’s knuckles, “I know I keep repeating that and you’re probably sick of hearing it, but I promise you things are going to get better.” This being said, the man brings the others hand up to brush his lips where his thumb had been only seconds before.

Setting his fork aside, Credence places his other hand on top of Percy’s and sighs softly. “I trust you,” he whispers as he meets the soft gaze, those dark eyes so soft and fond that it takes his breath away, “I know things will get better.”

The smile that breaks across his soulmate’s face sends the butterflies within him into flight. It speaks of reassurance and promise. Credence has never been smiled at like this before. Never has he been gazed at in such a smitten fashion, as if he’s the most important person in the room. 

The only person.

He has to look away after returning the gesture, lip quivering and eyes bright with unshed tears as emotion threatens to wrench a sob from his chest.

“They will.” Percy promises, unworried of the other diners as he kisses the man’s temple, a gentle touch that speaks more than any words ever could.

A promise. A declaration. 

It’s something Credence clings onto desperately, memorizing this moment and locking it safely away next to his heart.

_________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

It’s something that he’s struggled with ever since he left James Bray in the interrogation room, whether or not he should tell Credence what he’s discovered about his adoptive mother. The kid has had a rough day, the evidence clear in the droop of his posture and the puffy redness of his eyes that have yet to fade. He deserves to know, Percy thinks, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to add more weight to the man’s shoulders. Not just yet.

Credence needs time to breathe.

They’re back at the brownstone, having finished an early dinner at Carmen’s, and Percy helped the younger man to stow the purchases away in the guest room. He had been tempted to bring them into his own room, but then he thought that might be seen as assuming. Just because Credence crawled into his bed last night doesn’t mean he’ll want to do it again. At least he hopes he’s wrong.

His mind drifts back to the interrogation as he dresses down for the evening, loosening his tie and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Bray had picked Mary Lou Barebone out of a photo lineup, his stubby finger immediately tapping on her pinched face as soon as he saw it.

The man told Percy that she approached him the other day just as he was getting ready to enter Dragon Street, inquiring about Polyjuice potion and offering payment up front for the massive batch. Of course, Bray is an idiot and had no idea who she was, revealing that she never gave her name or the reason she required so much Polyjuice. All of this under the influence of Veritaserum.

Why would Mary Lou Barebone, head of the Second Salmers, try to obtain such a vast quantity of potions. A potion that’s been illegal to make or sell in America for many years now.

The fact that this woman has a connection to the wizarding world, leads a hateful, anti-witch organization and is trying to obtain a disguise potion is deeply alarming. After the interrogation he instructed a small team to work with Goldstein and keep eyes on Barebone at all times.

She’s not going to be able to so much as sneeze without Percy knowing about it.

A soft tap of bare feet draws Percy from his thoughts and he blinks rapidly, lifting his head to quirk a smile at Credence as he descends the stairs. It quickly melts into parted lips as he sees his soulmate dressed in one of the casual outfits for the first time, his eyes raking the younger man’s form hungrily as he takes it in.

Over a plain white, well-fitted button up he wears a charcoal grey waistcoat with a subtle black and white flannel pattern, hugging his upper body like a second skin. Matching trousers of the same shade and style cling just as snuggly, and Percy can’t control his gaze as it wanders shamelessly to examine the man’s slender hips and thighs.

Credence has forgone one of the many silk ties they picked out together, simply leaving the top two buttons of his shirt undone to create a sensual game of peek-a-boo with his throat. The entire ensemble is enough to leave Percy’s mouth dry and his eyes fluttering, eager to perform a much more thorough appraisal with his hands and lips.

“Well?” Credence asks hesitantly once he’s made it off the final step and into the living room where Percy is strangling the neck of the decanter he’s holding, “How does it look?” He shifts nervously—self-consciously—oh, that just won’t do.

With a shaky breath Percy sets the bottle down to slowly approach his soulmate, lifting his hands to brush knuckles along the soft fabric of the waistcoat.

“May I be honest?” He says in a strained voice, fingers itching to dig into the garment and drag Credence closer.

The younger man’s brows knit together but he nods, causing Percy to fight back a groan when he absently chews at the corner of his lip.

“Please.”

Oh, and doesn’t that just get his blood pumping?

With another unsteady exhale Percy traces the waistcoat buttons with a fingertip, “You look positively delectable.” He struggles to keep a grasp on his self control, especially when Credence releases his captive lip to wet it with his tongue, a quick flash of pink that he tracks with his eyes before quickly meeting the others gaze. There’s the shadow of desire reflected there, deep and heated to match the beautiful color forming high on Credence’s cheeks.

“Oh?” He gasps softly when Percy touches each button as he languidly makes his way up to the open collar, his fingertips ghosting over the pale skin at the base of Credence’s neck.

“Quite,” he rasps. With as much control as he can muster, the older man cups his cheek and allows his eyes to drift shut. The shiver that runs through him when Credence leans into the touch wages battle with the static sensation that sparks to life beneath his palm. He rests their foreheads together for a moment, only pulling away as his control threatens to shatter when the others breath hitches.

“How about a drink?” He says in a rough voice, placing a chaste kiss to the man’s brow before hastily returning to the liquor cabinet mounted on the wall to retrieve an empty glass.

“I-I’ve never had alcohol before.” Credence pads over to stand by him, watching with unveiled curiosity as Percy pours out two fingers worth of Firewhisky into a crystal tumbler, doing the same with a second glass.

“If you don’t like it I’ll finish it,” he hums softly, body still vibrating with need which he hopes the whiskey will help dampen. 

The younger man accepts the proffered drink, following Percy to the sofa where he sits on one crossed leg, eyeing the amber liquid with interest. The older man watches, waiting to see his soulmate’s reaction, and he’s not disappointed, lip quirking knowingly as Credence coughs and sputters while skeptically staring at the glass. Percy is overtaken with a fit of laughter when the other turns his wide, watering eyes to him.

“That was my first reaction to it, too,” he chuckles, enamored with the man’s comical expression.

“Is it supposed to burn like that?” Credence croaks and swipes at his eyes, ridding them of their moisture.

“Yes,” Percy says, a cheeky smile on his lips.

“Why would you drink this?” He’s asks in a voice roughened by the liquor, the sound stirring arousal within the older man to flood south. He downs half of his own whiskey before answering.

“It’s definitely an acquired taste,” Percy stares, impressed when Credence pushes on to take another, this time much smaller, sip. He doesn’t sputter, nor does he cough, though he does pull a twisted expression that makes Percy drop his head back and laugh deeply.

They nurse their drinks in companionable silence, with Credence stealing shy glances before ultimately reaching out to twine their fingers together over the back of the sofa. With a contented sigh Percy presses closer until their thighs comfortably touch. He’s finished what’s in his tumbler much quicker than his soulmate, temporarily setting the glass down on the coffee table before he lazily flicks his wrist to summon the decanter to float into his outstretched hand.

“You know,” he says quietly, pouring himself several more fingers of whiskey before replacing the stopper and taking up the glass, “This is what my parents and I drank to celebrate your birth.”

The sip he takes burns down his throat, and it’s that which he focuses on while sheepishly watching Credence’s expression, hoping his candor wasn’t too much. Its the vulnerable look he’s given that has Percy putting his glass down to press flush to his soulmate’s side, hands instantly reaching out to card soothingly through dark hair.

“You...celebrated my birth?” Credence whimpers, his bottom lip trembling as he stares at Percy with glassy eyes; from the liquor or welling tears, he’s not certain. What he is certain is that those eyes melt through him to his very soul, plucking at his heartstrings along the way.

“I did,” he says, a soft sob traitorously slipping into his speech as he reverently touches the gold mark on the man’s wrist, “I watched my timer from the very moment it started ticking, knowing one day I’d finally meet you. My parents are eager to meet you as well,” he chuckles thickly, lowering his head to rest against Credence’s chest, “I’ve wanted you my whole life.”

This time it’s his soulmate’s turn to sob, the glass in his hand making a dull thump as he blindly sets it on the coffee table to encircle Percy with his arms. The embrace speaks to him, saying ‘I need you. I need to feel you here. I need you to hold me.’

And hold Credence he does. Percy twists his body until he’s carefully stretched out over the other man, dipping his arms past throw pillows to wrap around a quivering waist, his cheek resting gently against a convulsing chest.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, nuzzling close when the other weeps quietly, “You have been loved unconditionally since before you were even born. You know that, right? You are so loved, Credence.” He confesses in a whisper, no longer able to keep the words to himself. Not when his soulmate needs to hear them. Not when they’ve burned to be spoken for eighteen years.

Credence presses his face into Percy’s slicked hair, mussing it until it breaks shape and several strands tickle his jaw, slender arms winding tight like he’s trying to physically pull the older man into himself. And he sobs, oh—such a heart shattering sound, one that echoes throughout the quiet living room, all while Percy holds him like a lifeline with his face buried against the waistcoat; Like he himself is eager to melt into the man’s chest and take up residence next to his pounding heart.

“I’ve got you now and I won’t ever let you go,” he chants softly, his voice wavering as he soon finds himself sympathetically snubbing. Tears collect, fat and heavy, obscuring his vision until they crash onto the smooth fabric with audible plops.

It could have been the sound of his rough voice that causes it, or it could have been the way he begins to shake in response to the emotion seeping out beneath him; all Percy knows is that one moment he’s openly soaking the front of his soulmate’s shirt and the next he’s being hauled up by an impossibly strong grip to be kissed within an inch of his life.

Clumsy lips smash against his own, slim fingers thread through his hair and long legs wrap around his waist simultaneously to knock the air out of him in the best possible way. It’s like the kid is trying to absorb him, forcing their bodies flush together so Percy can barely tell where he ends and the other man begins. The kiss is searing in it’s intensity; in the way their lips slide hot and wet, quickly turning something sweet and passionate that needs no words into something filthy and obscene that needs to be shouted through actions.

Percy pushes up, sliding higher until he has the younger man caged under him to dive his tongue past the seam of Credence’s lips and feast upon the hollow of his mouth. Fingers and limbs tighten their grip while the older man plunders his mouth; stroking licks and teasing suckles that even he didn’t know he was capable of. Following his body’s instinct was the right move, because Credence is writhing beneath the sensual assault, making the most enticing noises he’s ever heard in his life.

He needs to hear more. Feel more. Taste more.

More.

In the spur of his arousal, Percy flicks his fingers to magically undo the buttons of both the waistcoat and shirt that Credence wears, drawing out a startled, yet delighted gasp that he greedily swallows down like it’s his last supper. 

They continue swapping electrified strokes while Percy enthusiastically maps porcelain plains; the sharp dip of a collarbone, flat trails across the sternum, coming to explore a rosy peak with fevered desperation. It makes him shake to feel so much skin on his fingertips, not just because this is the farthest he’s ever gotten in a sexual experience, but the static feedback from their bond spikes wildly, looping their pleasure in an endless cycle that has him gasping aloud and making him painfully hard. 

Oh—he’s never been this hard in his life.

The younger man keens high, head thrashing to and fro as Percy lowers himself to trace the unsteady path of his fingertips with his lips and tongue. He’s dipping down to lap at a beautifully pebbled nipple when a hand fists its way into his hair to pull him back, and just like that he’s pushed down against the cushions on the other side of the sofa with his soulmate straddling his hips, swiftly rushing in to capture his lips with a groan of pure need.

Percy places his hands on Credence’s hips and allows the other man to lead the kiss, a strangled noise leaving him when that action causes his soulmate to grind down at the sudden touch. It brings them even closer and his head spins when he feels their solid erections slide together. This reaction seems to encourage the other as he grinds down once more, this time with careful calculation as he stimulates them with the steady rock of his hips.

The sensation jumpstarts a bolt of pleasure to rush through him in waves, each back and forth motion rendering him a panting, squirming mess on the edge of creaming his pants like a teenager.

He could cum just like this, he sheepishly thinks.

With a gasp the older man breaks the kiss, “Credence,” he breathes out huskily, racing his hands up to gently dig blunt fingertips along his soulmate’s back.

It happens so quickly that it takes Percy’s lust-addled brain a moment to catch on that something is wrong; Credence jerks away with a startled yelp to crawl off of him and sit huddled with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

“Credence, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Percy asks in a panic, forcing his mind to rise from the fog of arousal as he sits up, hesitantly reaching a hand out to the other.

“N-no, I’m sorry. It’s—you didn’t hurt me,” he rushes shakily, eyes downcast and shoulders trembling, “They’re healed, I-I just forgot about them, it startled me—“ he rambles quietly.

“...’Healed?’” This snags his attention instantly, eyes drawn to Credence’s back where he has it pressed against the sofa, “What do you mean by that?”

The man doesn’t have to answer him because Percy’s eyes fall upon the cross-hatched scars on his palm and it clicks into place.

Percy takes a deep breath to try and calm the bubbling anger he can feel boiling up within his chest, fingers itching to remove the shirt and see what lies beneath it. 

It’s as if Credence can read the thoughts as they appear because he carefully slides closer to take the older man’s hand with an anxious expression.

“Please,” he says softly, feline eyes searching his face, knowing his own expression is certainly not very pleasant at the moment, “We can talk about it later, I promise. I just...I don’t want to soil this moment with those memories right now.”

Percy would love nothing more than to march down to that church and tear that sadistic bitch limb from limb, but that vulnerable gaze and those soft, pleading words have total control of him. It’s the featherlight touch to his soulmark that helps to effectively sooth him.

This kid has him wrapped around his finger and he probably doesn’t even realize it.

“Okay,” he whispers, forcing the growing fury down and away from his voice, “Okay.”

Credence slowly drops his arms and reaches for Percy, touching the shimmery mark on his inner wrist in a silent request. The older man answers, sliding along the cushions until they’re pressed firmly together, to take a marked wrist into his own hand. He brings Credence’s arm up and places a ginger kiss to the Celtic knot, shivering in time with the loop sensation as it tickles his lips.

“C-can we go upstairs?” 

Swallowing hard, Percy meets his soulmate’s eyes, finding in them the liquid heat and desire that surely his own still echo. They shouldn’t, he knows, it’s far too soon to take their fledgling relationship to the next level, but he feels that they both might explode if there’s no form of relief. Perhaps a little exploration wouldn’t hurt.

“What’s upstairs?” He asks softly, with a teasing glint to his eye.

He watches with longing as Credence darts his tongue out to sooth his dry, kiss swollen lips and he’s desperate for his own tongue to perform that motion.

“Bed. I need you to touch me.” The last part is a rough whisper and Percy is unable to hold back a low groan as he rises. The other man stands with him, allowing himself to be pulled into a tender kiss, one that nourishes the heat burning under his skin. When it’s on the threatening edge of being filthy Percy breaks it, both panting into one another’s space.

Without words he’s led by other out of the living room and to the staircase, taking each step with warring emotions. There’s nervous excitement churning within him that’s momentarily squashed the feelings of rage towards the Barebone woman. He knows that won’t last long. It’s something that’s going to haunt him until he’s able to bring that woman to justice for what she’s done. If his theory is correct that may certainly come to fruition.

For now Percy puts all vengeful thoughts on the back burner in his mind to simmer and instead focuses on the warmth of those long fingers encircling his wrist. He stares at Credence, who occasionally glances over his shoulder at him, and is hit once more by the disbelief of having his soulmate. Eighteen years of waiting to finally have this perfect person with him. 

He gazes at the hand connecting them in wonder as they walk down the hall and his heart skips when Credence guides him to the master bedroom. 

The jitters that have been buzzing through Percy ease up when their lips reunite with a soft, sensual brush. He returns it with enthusiasm, allowing himself to be pulled further into the room by shaky fists gripping the front of his shirt. It’s only a moment later when the back of Credence’s legs bump into the mattress and he tugs, once more silent in his request for Percy to follow.

The younger man plops backwards and brings Percy with him and his legs are unstable as he’s knocked off balance and hauled to straddle the man’s hips. Arousal pumps through his veins just as quickly as his blood when Credence breaks the kiss to mouth at the flushed skin of his neck. It’s a touch that has him trembling and arching his neck to give better access.

“That feels nice,” he whispers shakily, eyes fluttering shut with a whimper when he feels teeth scraping at his pulse point. With a quiet exhale Percy rolls himself until he’s lying on his side, coaxing his soulmate to do the same until they’re pressed flush together. He slips his hand beneath Credence’s open shirt to caress the smooth skin of his neck and chest as he drops his head down to mimic what had been done to him only moments before.

The quiet gasp this elicits encourages him to explore with fingers and lips. Percy finds the supple flesh of Credence’s throat and latches on to gently suck while he strokes a thumb against the man’s convulsing stomach. He shakes when blunt nails drag along his clothed shoulders, digging in search of leverage as the younger man moans and slots their hips together. This action causes their cocks to rub, both hard and heavy, and Percy shamelessly keens as he bucks forward, making jerky, inexperienced thrusts in his search from friction.

Fingers race from his shoulder to grip at the small of his back and he suddenly has a mouth overtaking him, sloppy and desperate in their need. Drunk with lust, Percy yields control and parts his lips, rumbling deep in his chest when Credence’s tongue slips through to bashfully swipe at his own. 

Heart hammering against his ribs, Percy brings a hand to tease a nipple, consuming the passionate sounds that pour from his soulmate’s lips like he’s starving. The repetitive pounding of blood in his ears is so loud that he’s sure it can be heard beyond himself, and it only increases as he nervously breaks the kiss to swap his nervous fingers with his mouth.

Credence cries out beautifully when his tongue rolls over the silken nipple for the first time and coaxes it to pebble. Percy hasn’t done this before, but he’s fairly confident in his ministrations because the younger man is squirming against him like he’s being tortured. This also creates a blessed stimulation between their groins that has him panting heavily against the spit slick skin.

“P-Percy.” There’s a hand restlessly combing through his hair, only to tug gently, a request, one that Percy is eager to fulfill as he gives the peak one more flick with the tip of his tongue. He lifts his head and groans at the utterly wrecked expression on Credence’s face, cataloguing each pleasure-pinched wrinkle.

“Percy,” his name is spoken as quietly as a prayer, and this causes his cock to give a sharp twitch, “I-I need..”

Swallowing hard he buries his nose into the crook of his soulmate’s neck and breathes deeply, taking in as much of the other man’s scent as he grinds experimentally, his body shaking like a leaf with every rough stroke.

The breathy cry Percy gets in return shoots straight through him like a bolt of lightning and he reaches down to shyly cup Credence through his tented trousers, moaning in sympathy when the man whimpers. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he openly admits in a hushed tone, bashfully dropping his face to kiss a trail from a defined collarbone to the shell of a flushed ear. He may be sure-headed and confident as the Director of Magical Security, but he right now he feels like a fumbling teenager in the face of intimacy. He’s found pleasure in his own hand, of course, but he’s never had another beneath his touch quite like this.

“Th-that’s alright,” Credence gasps, hips twitching under his fingers to chase the offered friction, “I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

Rumbling low in his chest, immensely pleased with this answer, Percy boldly lifts his fingers to the button at the front of the man’s trousers and anxiously begins to undo it.

“Is this okay?” He questions softly as he draws the zipper down, wetting his dry lips while carefully gauging the others reaction. He feels wide open and raw, in a fragile way he’s never experienced before.

Credence nods before hiding his face and the high flush of color at his cheekbones. It’s incredibly charming and Percy can’t help but nuzzle at the man’s jaw as he slowly dips his hand past the underwear’s elastic to brush at the curls hidden beneath it. He’s certain that his soulmate can feel the hard tremor of his fingers, how it easily gives away the nervousness threatening to consume him, but he soldiers on, attempting to appear collected.

He chokes out a startled noise when he feels equally unsteady hands at his own waistband and clears his throat to try and rid himself of that embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” is the breathless response spoken against the flushed skin of his throat as Credence fumbles with his zipper.

“N-no, you’re fine. I’m just—Mercy Lewis, I’m a mess,” he manages to chuckle, though it comes out much more hoarse than he would have liked, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” He whispers, resuming his descent to brush his fingers against the other man’s straining erection. It twitches when he slips deeper, mapping out the hard, silky skin in search of the plush head.

Credence mumbles something so quiet under his breath that Percy lifts his head to ask what was said, only to have the wind knocked out of him when than man surges forward to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. He openly groans into it, giving just as good as he gets, and keens when nimble fingers finally free him from the tight confines of his pants.

If he thought the static sensation from their bare hands touching was intense, then this is absolutely maddening. It’s nothing like when he touches himself when he’s alone. The pleasure is amplified, and when Credence fully takes him in hand and begins to stroke he nearly screams at how overwhelming it is.

Head thrown back and panting Percy rushes to get his soulmate freed as well. He struggles with the slit of the underwear, and in his frustration to return the all-consuming pleasure he’s feeling, Percy vanishes both boxers and pants until Credence is naked from the waist down.

The younger man yelps in surprise at the sudden disappearance of his clothing, but Percy doesn’t give him time to think about it as he wandlessly conjures slick into the palm of his hand and encircles Credence cock in a firm grip. His soulmate goes from wild sputters to crying out in ecstasy when the older man starts to pump his cock. Percy pants hard with his lips parted and watches with dark eyes as pleasure smooths the lines around the other man’s mouth and wrinkles his brow.

The conjured slick eases the glide of his hand as he works Credence over, twisting his wrist and swiping the weeping slit with his thumb with each pass. He tears his eyes away from bitten lips to glance down between them and his breath stutters at the sight. 

Where Percy is thick and of modest length with a subtle curve, Credence is long, slender and straight. It’s a beautiful contrast that has him seeking out their differences with vigor. He quietly repeats the slick spell for Credence’s hand, moaning low when it takes effect. 

The stroking stops for a moment and he chuckles huskily at the younger man’s reaction, looking up just in time to see the puzzled look.

“Magic?” Credence asks roughly, heavy-lidded eyes finding him after the curious examination, and Percy hums with a crooked smile on his lips.

“Magic.” He whispers before diving in for another kiss, licking and nipping playfully. The mutual strokes continue with the wet squelch of sex-magic providing an obscene white noise for their activity, and it isn’t long before breathy moans and cries join the chorus.

Euphoria pours into his mind like a fog, thick and heady as Percy makes shallow thrusts into the other man’s fist. He breaks the kiss and drops his head to mouth at Credence’s jaw, relishing the course sensation of stubble under his bruised lips and he shivers at the thought of how that might feel on his inner thighs.

“I-I think I’m close,” Credence gasps out, voice high and urgent as he mimics the buck of the older man’s hips, and Percy can feel the way his soulmate grows impossibly harder in his touch. He tightens his grip and pumps quickly, rasping words of encouragement as he leans back to obsessively watch his soulmate’s face. 

“Me too,” Percy grunts, eyes screwing shut of their own accord as the first licks of molten pleasure crash around low in his stomach like a choppy sea.

With a needy groan he opens his eyes and finds Credence gazing back at him, his pupils blown wide and mouth caught in a silent cry of bliss. It’s such a raw, open expression, one that has Percy preening with the knowledge that he’s been gifted with something no one has ever seen before.

It’s that thought that pushes him over the edge, grunting in an almost feral manner as his orgasm builds to a crescendo and pounds through him like a raging tidal wave. He spurts hot, thick ropes over his soulmate’s knuckles as a string of praise flows from his lips. In the flood of endorphins he tightens his fist and strokes frantically, urging Credence to join him in this nirvana. He whimpers in delight when hears the most beautiful, broken noise, followed by the warm sensation of seed spilling over his fingers. He wants to bottle this moment and keep it with him for all eternity.

Percy’s eyes flutter shut and he rests their damp foreheads together as they pant, both men still twitching through the aftershocks of climax. A tight knot of emotion forms in his throat and makes swallowing difficult. It’s this shared moment, more beautiful than anything he could have possibly dreamt that threatens to do him in. He keeps his eyes pinched tightly shut as they prickle and grow wet. 

He never knew how emotional this could be.

“Are you okay?” So soft and tender this question is asked that Percy relents and opens his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear away the moisture. Credence is lying there with his dark hair tousled and face flushed while he searches the older man’s face with a concerned gaze.

“Yes,” Percy replies thickly and quietly curses himself when a tear spills from the corner of his eye to hang from the tip of his nose, “I’m just happy,” he clears his throat and exhales shakily. A sob nearly makes itself known when his soulmate lifts his clean hand to catch the drop before carefully tracing the along the track to wipe the rest away.

“I am too,” Credence mouths, his voice missing as he sniffles.

Percy hums softly and vanishes the evidence of their intimacy with a flick of his wrist, further using wandless magic to right their clothing, Credence snorts inelegantly when his pants reappear.

Afterwards he pulls the man flush to his chest, his chin wobbling in the fight to keep from crying. He rests his head on an equally unsteady shoulder, holding Credence close and wrapping him in a protective embrace, as if his arms alone can shield him from the cruelties of the world.

Credence sluggishly buries his face against Percy’s neck, breathing deeply. A soft sigh tickles the heated skin after a moment when he melts into the touch, snuggling close like a kitten, and it doesn’t take long for the younger man to go completely slack, the gentle rise and fall of his chest bringing about quiet snores.

This is all he’s ever wanted, Percy thinks to himself as sleep creeps up to claim him too. It’s the warm weight pressed to his chest and the even puffs of breath against his neck that begin to coax him towards the peaceful dark of unconsciousness.

He’s just about there when a corporal patronus bounds through the bedroom window, effectively jolting him into full awareness. It’s Fontaine’s, a silver coyote that swiftly pads over to him when it’s paws touch down. His subordinate’s voice comes through to inform him that he’s urgently needed at The Blind Pig, that there’s been another situation.

When the ethereal animal has delivered its message it disappears into a swirl of silvery wisps and Percy groans quietly. He knows crime doesn’t stop just because it’s bedtime, but he asks for so little.

He’s reluctant to leave when he looks down at Credence’s face, the man’s features so young and smoothed by slumber, but this is something he can’t ignore this. With a sigh he leans down to kiss a warm cheek before carefully disentangling himself from long limbs.

Percy adjusts his clothes and finds a sheet of paper, scrawling out a quick note to let Credence know that he’s been called into work for an emergency and tells him he’ll send a message if he’s going to be gone for a while. When that’s finished he places the note on the bedside table, gives the sleeping man one more wistful look and turns to leave. He walks down the stairs and out of the brownstone, making sure the door is locked and the wards are still in place before he goes to one of the designated apparation zones.

Arriving at the bar with a loud crack he walks around the building and enters to a flurry of movement. The small establishment is packed with his Aurors and all of them look up when he walks in. Fontaine is speaking with another Senior Auror when he spots Percy, abruptly ending that conversation to jog over to the man.

“What have we got?” He asks, voice even and commanding as he takes a brief glance around the bar. Fontaine is opening his mouth to answer when a monstrous inhuman roar echoes from beneath their feet, causing the foundation to tremble.

_________________________________________  
Credence  
* * * * *

Credence is snatched from a dream he can’t quite remember by a loud bang. He’s groggy from the sudden awakening, lids feeling like they have weights attached to them as he struggles to open his eyes.

He glances at the mattress beside him where Percy had been lying prior to dozing off and finds the spot vacant and the sheets cool. Cool enough to suggest that the man hasn’t been there for some time. He’s wondering where he could have gone when another bang startles him. It’s aggressive in its urgency.

Rubbing his eyes, Credence slings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, the plush rug under his feet not preparing him for the sudden shock of stepping on cold hardwood as he leaves the bedroom. He silently pads to the stairs, noting how the entire house is dark and eerily quiet as he makes his descent. 

Maybe Percy was called into work? That seems the most likely answer, seeing as the man’s job is to literally protect all of America. 

Not bothering to turn any lights on, Credence takes the steps down into the living room, the tapping of his bare feet sounding thunderous in the dead silence of the brownstone. It’s as he reaches the entryway that he jolts roughly from the banging, the insistent noise is coming from the front door.

Taking a moment to slow his heart rate, Credence breathes deeply before tiptoeing over, placing a hand flat on the door as he looks through the peephole, his breath hitches.

It’s Chastity.

He freezes, pulse thrumming wildly and disbelieving of what he sees. But there she stands, huddled in her thin coat with her head tucked against the collar as she glances first to her left and then her right. 

After the momentary shock passes Credence hastily fumbles with the door, cursing quietly when his shaking hand slips on the lock. He twists the knob and quickly yanks the door open, heart thumping in his chest as he rushes out to meet her.

“Chastity!? What are you—“ He’s unable to finish that sentence as something hard strikes him across the back of the head. His sister’s wide eyes are the last thing he sees as he blacks out and crumbles to the ground.

*


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Alternating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait. Writer’s block is a bish D:
> 
> Warnings for:
> 
> Violence  
> Blood  
> Gore (unrelated to the character violence)

Credence  
* * * * *

Upon regaining consciousness—a queasy, creeping sensation—the first thing he notices is a repetitive dripping, soft and rhythmic, echoing softly in the space he’s in.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The continuous plop of water crashing onto a flat surface, most likely from a leaky pipe or growing water stain, no matter how quiet and gentle the noise, grates against Credence’s pounding head. 

That’s the second thing that makes itself known to the man’s resurfacing awareness. A dull throbbing at his temple that would surely be painful to touch, were he to do so. But that’s the thing. He can’t.

This is how the third realization grips him, a rising fear that claws upwards from his churning stomach to his dry throat. His hands are bound tightly behind him with rope, encircling what appears to be a metal pipe, and he’s blinded, eyes covered with a thick, coarse fabric.

It’s with the bitter burn of bile on the back of his tongue that he realizes he’s been abducted.

Panic pulses through Credence’s at a nauseating speed and his breath quickens as he tries to flail his arms, but to no avail. The bite of rope against his wrists dig in as he struggles, and the pain created by the friction only fuels the fear that’s building within him. When it’s clear that he’s not any closer to freeing his hands, and he teeters dangerously on the edge of hyperventilating, he forces himself to take several deep breaths and assess the situation.

‘Where am I?—How did I end up here?—What’s the last thing I remember?’ Credence asks himself.

He can recall, in great detail, going to bed with Percy. Their shared intimacy, so vivid he can still feel the heat of his soulmate’s skin beneath his fingers. The overwhelming bliss of falling asleep next to him, safe and warm. 

He vaguely remembers waking alone, reaching out to touch the space where Percy should have been and finding it cool to the touch. Why had he woken?

Knocking. Someone had been at the door. 

No, not just someone. Chastity. 

Standing on the stoop in the middle of the night in her threadbare coat, banging on the door with urgency. But she hadn’t been alone.

The steady throbbing in his head added another piece to the puzzle. An ambush. An unknown assailant. It wasn’t his sister who had struck him, even in his dazed state he can remember seeing the shock on her pale face as darkness took him.

Had she been forced into helping kidnap him? That thought wasn’t nearly as painful as the one now demanding attention from the back of his mind. That she might have been a willing participant.

No. She wouldn’t betray him like that, right?

Right?

Anxiety once again crashed like an unforgiving storm in his stomach, rocking so violently that he felt he would be sick at any moment. He had to calm down if there was any chance of getting out of here. But where was “here,” exactly? That’s the next thing he needed to figure out.

Credence dropped his head and counted each breath, urging his mind and breathing to slow so he could examine things with unmarred senses. Though he was blindfolded and tied up, he could still gather information that might be useful. The dripping water, the damp air, the cold, unyielding concrete he sat upon. A basement?

The church has a basement, but he doubts that’s where he’s been spirited off to. No, that would be too close for Mary Lou’s comfort. It had to be her, after all. She obviously has some knowledge about who Credence has been with and surely wouldn’t risk discovery by bringing him there. But why?

Why go through the trouble of taking him when just that afternoon she had screamed at him to leave?

It doesn’t make sense.

The shrill creak of a rusty hinge snatches Credence from his fearful reveries so quickly that it makes his head spin and his stomach lurch. With bated breath he lifts his face towards the noise and waits, reaching with shaking fingers to press against the soulmark on his wrist in an act of self-soothing. Perhaps if he presses hard enough Percy can feel him. He could find him. It’s that thought that comforts him as boots approach with a heavy, ominous thump.

“Hello?” His voice bounces off the walls, and it sounds so tiny to himself. So raw.

The footsteps echo loudly in the room, thunderous over the soft dripping of water, each step slow and methodical as they draw closer. Credence braces himself for the inevitable interaction with his mystery guest. He’s braced for venomous words and mocking accusations. What he hasn’t braced himself for, however, is the sharp, vicious sting of a slap across his face. It’s so sudden and unexpected that it steals his breath away and causes him to cry out in surprise.

“Abomination,” a deep voice mutters above him, laced with contempt. 

Credence doesn’t have time to gather himself before a foot slams hard into his stomach. It’s as unexpected as the slap had been, only this is painful beyond words. He chokes around a stuttered breath and screws his eyes shut as they begin to tear up. He’s experienced plenty of pain and suffering in his life, has the scars to prove it, in fact, but he’s never felt anything as intense as this. His stomach burns fiercely from where the toe of the boot dug into his gut, and the urge to vomit is strong. He’s pretty sure the shoes are steel-toed. 

Dry heaving several times, Credence keeps his head ducked low to his chest and struggles to breathe as he wheezes. He wonders if something is broken or torn, because there’s an alarming rattling in his lungs.

A hand fists in his hair and yanks hard, followed by another blow, this time to the nose. His scream smothers the distinct cracking of bone, and it takes every ounce of control he has not to beg for mercy. No matter what happens he will never beg.

A thick warmth flows over his lips and begins to splatter onto his brand new button-up. The taste of copper fills his mouth, mixing with the sharp tang of acid.

He’s speaking before he realizes, before he can stop himself, with slurred speech to ask, “W-why are you doing this? Where am I?”

His question goes unanswered, and between his own fractured gasps and involuntary whimpers he can hear the boots shuffling, the only warning he’s granted before a steel-toe collides with his bent knee. Credence manages to wrangle a sob of agony into his throat, just in time for the creak of the door to penetrate the room.

They’re not alone.

Thankfully there’s a reprieve from the abuse as the assailant’s thudding boots fade towards the door to greet whoever is behind it. He can hear hushed tones, a clipped conversation, but he can’t make out what’s being said or who the other person might be. 

With this welcome distraction or, at least as welcome as such a situation allows, Credence attempts to examine his injuries as well as a bound person can. His nose is still bleeding a sluggish trail across his lips and down his chin, and the pressure building behind it is so immense that he’s certain it’s broken. It’s safe to assume his eyes were blackened as a result. The previous dull ache at his temple has flared back to life to join the sharp stab in his face, creating an all-over ache that makes his eyes prickle with moisture.

His stomach, the area he’s most worried about, hurts just as much, but he’s not coughing up blood and the pain radiates as opposed to being scalding. Perhaps it’s just been bruised. That just leaves his smarting knee, and he takes a moment to draw his leg to his body and stretch it back out before being confident that nothing is wrong with it, aside from the understandable heat that follows an impact.

Though it’s enough to calm his nerves for the time being, Credence has a sickening feeling that the beatings are far from over. He’s tied up, after all, and that makes for an easy punching bag. 

They want something from him. This assault was meant to be a warning, he thinks. ‘This is what will happen if you don’t do what I say.’

The groan of the door and the unnerving silence that follows tells him that his captor has left the room, which means he can breathe easily for now. Or so he thought, because just as he allows his abused body to go limp the door creaks sharply and thuds shut, announcing another arrival. His muscles automatically tense up and a pitiful whimper leaves his throat from the pain the ripples through him.

Credence drags his knees to his chest, the injured leg takes a little more effort to move, and bows his head to rest upon them. If this is to be round two of his torture, he’s determined to prepare himself for the strikes in advance.

He expects to hear the familiar heavy thump of boots but is surprised when the taps are much lighter and quick. The person approaching him is smaller than the man, by a significant amount, and it leads him to believe that he’s safe for the time being. Of course, he could be wrong and is about to be flayed alive, but there’s just something about the delicate tread that’s disarming.

Credence bites his cheek as the person stops before him. There’s a soft clatter as something is placed on the floor by his feet, and his initial reaction is to kick at the object, but Credence forces himself to stay motionless under that urge. Compliant.

A gentle slosh of water cuts through the strained silence, followed by the steady cascade of liquid as something is wrung out, before a cold cloth is pressed against the swollen flesh of his temple. Credence instinctively jerks away from the sudden contact and is quietly shushed, a small hand reaches out to touch his uninjured shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. 

The wet cloth ghosts across his skin in a careful caress, an act of mindfulness in the wake of his injuries, and Credence relaxes beneath the tender ministrations. They wipe the dried blood from his forehead, rinse the cloth, and move to his nose to repeat the process. The soft hiss of sympathy as the cold fabric swipes beneath his nose creates a surge of bravery in his chest, and he clings to that confidence as he speaks, praying that this individual is as kind as he suspects them to be.

“H-hello?”

There’s no blow. No cruel impact to his body. No hateful words. Only the tinkling drip of water as the cloth is dipped and wrung out over a bowl. 

“Chastity?” He tries again, uncaring of the desperation in his hoarse voice.

Nothing except the gentle wipe down. That’s when it suddenly occurs to him.

“...Modesty?”

The soft affirmative squeeze to his shoulder has Credence nearly crying in relief, if not for the barely there “Shh,” to quiet him. 

It’s Modesty. She’s here. She’s okay. Isn’t she?

As she finishes wiping the blood from his chin and neck, Credence moves his dry tongue about in his mouth to moisten it before speaking again.

“Are you safe?” He whispers, his bruised stomach tensing up painfully until he feels another careful squeeze. She’s safe. 

He’s preparing to ask another question when the damning screech of the door swiftly kills their connection. Footsteps, not as heavy as the man, but not nearly as light as Modesty’s, tap several times as someone new enters the room. The cloth is pulled away from his face and presumably dropped back into the bowl, followed by the rapid shuffle of feet moving towards the exit, and Credence wants nothing more than to cry out and plead for his sister to stay with him. 

For one breathless second the shuffling pauses, almost as if the young girl heard his thoughts, before their new guest disturbs the silence with a voice that has haunted Credence all his life. He nearly chokes at the one-word command.

“Out,” Mary Lou says calmly, and Modesty’s timid steps move rapidly to comply.

_________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

The urge to punch Gnarlack is so consuming that Percy has to turn away from him, lest he give in. The goblin is wearing a bitter frown from where he sits cuffed on a barstool, without access to his stupid cigars. He’s clearly mourning their loss.

Without saying a single word to the pub owner, though he did manage a nasty look as he walked by, Percy stalks across the bar past a group of his Aurors to meet Fontaine in a back room. The man greets him with a solemn expression and a low “Boss,” puffing absently on a cigarette before nodding at an uncovered trap door at his feet. A tarnished runner lies folded on itself nearby.

“Leads to a basement,” the man mutters as he tucks his free hand into his trouser pockets, “It was hidden with a shoddy concealment charm and a poorly placed rug.”

“Who made the call?” 

Percy frowns as he examines the room they’re in. It’s used for storage, from the looks of it, with wooden crates stacked high as well as a collection of battered chairs and barstools.

“Several concerned patrons,” Fontaine takes a long drag before he continues, “We got reports of screaming coming from this room. Said it sounded like someone was being murdered. Gnarlack claims ignorance, but one of his hired houseelves pointed us to this hidden door.”

Percy’s brow knits, “Has anyone cleared it yet?”

“No. We didn’t want to enter until you arrived. We have no idea what’s down there, and nobody seems keen on talking.” The man finishes his cigarette, taking one more drag before twisting his wrist to magically dispose of it. If it weren’t for the drifting smoke that remains in the air, one might have never suspected. “It’s loud, whatever “It” is.”

With a grim nod, Percy kneels at the panel and places a hand on it. There’s no malicious magic that he can detect, and based off of the poor excuse for a concealment charm, there won’t be any within. At least nothing that will keep them out. The magic there would be used to keep something in. Something dangerous that needs no aid from spells.

“I’m going down.”

As if to test his nerves, a deafening roar rattles the wooden access and causes the hair on his neck to stand on end. It’s inhuman, animalistic, angry, and it’s not the only one. A second call, more of a screech, high pitched and threatening, churns his stomach. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, boss?” Fontaine asks, a tinge of unease in his rough voice.

“No. That’s why you’re coming with me.”

Percy instructs Fontaine to wait by the hidden door and leaves the back room to rally a team. He gathers three Aurors not currently conducting interviews and returns, explaining what they’re about to do and the proper precautions they need to take, as it’s clear they’re more than likely dealing with magical creatures.

“I’ll enter first. Fontaine, you’ll come in directly behind me, followed by Weiss and Lopez,” he locks eyes with the two Aurors in question, “Keep your eyes peeled and wands drawn. I want us to be ready for anything. Our goal is to clear the room and assess the situation. It’s likely we’ll find beasts down there, probably starved and aggressive. It’s up to us to keep our head and react appropriately, got it? 

When they agree, Percy turns his attention to the bright-eyed Junior Auror that completes their team, “Dixon, you’re on standby up here. No one except Scamander is authorized to enter, unless I specifically say so.”

He turns back to Fontaine, “Has anyone gotten hold of Scamander yet?”

The Senior Auror nods, “I sent him a message and received one back that he would be along shortly. Apparently there’s an emergency with one of his creatures.”

Percy hums quietly, “Until he gets here, we are only assessing and clearing the room of any potential civilians. Do you understand?” He asks the group as a whole.

The resounding “Sir!” is enough for the director to pull his wand from its holster, and he hears a quiet rustle as his Aurors do the same. With one more nod to his team, Percy flicks his wand at the panel in the floor until it lifts and opens, a cloud of dust rises and dissipates to reveal a rickety set of stairs leading down into darkness.

With a sense of caution, and a wordless Lumos, Percy steps down, mindful of the creaking boards beneath his feet as he descends. He commands the light at the tip of his wand to brighten as he treks further down, illuminating dingy stone walls covered in a fine layer of condensation. The air down here is damp, and there’s a putrid mixture of scents that make his nose wrinkle. Feces, urine, death. The stench of blood and gore, both fresh and festered, is nearly overwhelming, and he isn’t at all surprised to hear a muffled gag behind him.

“Bubble-head charm,” he whispers over his shoulder to his subordinates before casting one of his own. The relief it brings is immediate, however the aftertaste of decay and ammonia lingers at the back of his throat, stinging his sinuses.

Whatever is beyond these stairs has been here for a while.

They reach the final step and Percy pauses, taking a moment to appraise the dirty basement floor for any hidden traps. Confident that there are none, he silently increases the brightness of his Lumos and steps forward, breath hitching at the sight before him as all four wands light up the entire room.

The scent might have been overwhelming, but the image that accompanies it is downright gruesome. Percy had suspected at least two creatures being down here, but he had not expected to find four. 

A warning growl comes from the closest, and it’s a wonder that he doesn’t collapse from the anxiety that’s threatening to drown him.

A Nundu, a Basilisk, a Manticore and a fucking Chimera. All chained to the floor—aside from the Basilisk, which has been stuffed into a small rusted cage—with too tight shackles and too short chains.

Beneath the monumental shock, rage stirs within Percy and he bares his teeth at the sight. Scamander is going to lay waste to this bar, if he doesn’t do it first.

Fontaine stands beside him with his wand in a white knuckle grip and Weiss gasps behind them. The Nundu releases a loud whimper at the noise, and his anger swiftly erupts when he spots the massive constricting collar around its spiked throat, preventing the creature from taking a full breath. This beast is literally being strangled to keep it from expelling toxic gas.

The other creatures aren’t any better off. The caged Basilisk has been magically blinded, something he has seen on several occasions, as a means to prevent death or accidental petrification, with a hacked curse that must be very painful. The Chimera has a series of muzzles, an especially sturdy one on her lion’s head, and the Manticore’s tail has been flayed of the larger quills. There’s a sickening crunch of bones as it feasts on a mangled corpse, evidently the origin of the screams heard by the patrons earlier.

Someone got too close.

“Boss?” Fontaine’s normally steady voice shakes.

“We stick to the plan. Wait for Scamander to get here and then we drag Gnarlack to a fucking interrogation room. There’s no way he can claim that he had no knowledge of what was down here.” Percy murmurs, aware of the low growl in his voice.

Something the goblin had said during their last visit to The Blind Pig rings to life in his mind like a gong being struck.

‘Let’s just say someone must’ve been lookin’ to add somethin’ special to their...exotic collection.’

This is an exotic collection, alright. Rare. Deadly. A collection with a purpose far beyond aesthetic. A collection meant to cause damage. 

“And the Manticore?” Lopez questions, wand pressed tight to his chest as if to shield himself from the horrors of the room.

Percy reluctantly glances at the gore held possessively between the large beast’s claws and flinches as it brings the bloody mess in for another bite.

“Put it in stasis. If you try to take its kill away now you’re only going to enrage it,” he mutters, finally tearing his eyes from the scene when a loud crunch echoes throughout the dank room. 

All these creatures are malnourished and have been mistreated. One wrong move, one miscalculated spell, and they’ll be joining that fool of a wizard in death.

The Aurors look from the Manticore to each other, silently discussing which one will perform the spell. When he sees the fear etched deep on their faces, Percy steels himself and makes the decision, stepping forward with his wand raised. 

With an incantation and a quick wave, he casts the charm and the beast instantly goes still, its macabre meal slipping from giant paws to hit the concrete with a wet thump. The unnerving sound sends a shudder through his body.

Some of the tension melts away with the Manticore now under stasis, and the Aurors breathe a bit easier. The corpse is recovered with a precise levitation spell, but the damage is too extensive to get a visual id. It’ll take magic to recover the dead wizard’s identity, because they’re clearly not going to get it from anyone here.

Percy foresees the use of Veritaserum in the near future.

It takes twenty minutes before the rapid clatter of footsteps at the top of the stairs brings a panting, flushed Scamander into the room. His sharp gaze shoots past the Aurors, and Percy sees the exact moment his heart shatters in those hazel eyes. A harsh sob leaves the man’s throat and he rushes from the steps, only stopping when the director moves forward and grabs his shoulders. The Englishman catches his forearms in a vice-like grip and trembles, never once taking his eyes from the abused creatures. 

A series of emotions flash across the man’s face. Grief, disgust, fury. Bloodlust burns behind fair lashes and Percy carefully tightens his grip. 

“I need you to care for these creatures,” he whispers, pulling Scamander into closer, “Leave Gnarlack to me. I know...I know,” he rubs a soothing hand along the man’s back when his wand arm twitches, like he wants nothing more than to draw it, bolt up the stairs and exact his own brand of justice on the corrupt goblin.

“Let me take care of him,” he repeats before stepping back, “You worry about this.”

Scamander sniffles and angrily swipes at his eyes before finally meeting Percy’s gaze.

“Bust that bastard in his smug face for me,” he hisses in request.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

_________________________________________  
Credence  
* * * * *

Clutching his soulmark beneath shaking fingers, Credence keeps his head ducked as Mary Lou approaches, her firm steps piercing through him like a red-hot poker. The drawn out silence only causes his anxiety to spike. When the woman is presumably standing in front of him, it carries on, and he’s fairly certain that she’s staring down at him with a mixture of disappointment and disgust.

“You just had to ruin everything, didn’t you?” She hisses, and the bite of her tone makes Credence flinch.

He has no idea what she’s talking about. What could he have possibly ruined? Instead of giving into the voice in his head screaming at him to be the good son and reply, he stays quiet and is rewarded with a harsh kick to his injured leg, yelping both in surprise and pain at the sudden impact.

“I always knew you’d be a disgusting sodomite,” she practically spits, “Living in sin with that man.”

How does she even know about Percy? Has she been watching the brownstone? Did she follow them? The questions buzz about his head, the need for information burns inside him, and he wonders if she’ll keep monologuing if he doesn’t talk.

“If you would have just come home instead of being tempted by that witches’ mark you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. You always ruin everything, Credence.” Mary Lou snaps, and the shuffle of her feet frays his nerves. 

He must be making a face because she steps closer and whispers, “Yes. I can see that filth on your wrist.”

With barely a moment to think, to consider the consequences of his word, “You...you could see it this whole time?” He accuses breathlessly, feeling anger bubble beneath the surface.

“You’re a Squib?”

A slap echos in the room, a sharp blow delivered across his face that makes his head spin and his broken nose flare up in agony. A fresh stream of blood trickles down Credence’s face as her hand is drawn back and strikes him three more times in quick succession. Each one burns viciously and stings more than the last.

“Don’t call me that, you filthy heathen!” She snarls, slapping him once more before storming away. His head is pounding and his nose is throbbing mercilessly as the door creaks in protest before slamming shut. In the throes of pain he didn’t notice the powerswap, couldn’t hear the exchange, so he pales and grows queasy at the familiar thud of steel-toe boots slowly clacking towards him. 

The man whistles a cheerful tune as he approaches Credence, a wildly different contrast to what he knows will meet him once the footsteps stop. His captor languidly paces back and forth, whistling absently as one might do while washing a car or folding laundry. Not while inflicting bodily harm.

Holding his breath, Credence clenches his jaw, clings to his soulmark and prays that the man would just get it over with. Beat him, burn him, flay him—whatever his sadistic little heart desires so that he’ll walk away and leave the battered man to his suffering in quiet isolation.

He wishes Percy were here. 

All thoughts are swiftly severed as the man rears back, with brass knuckles that he’s slipped from his pocket, unbeknownst to Credence, and busts him in the jaw with such force that it sends him spiraling back into unconsciousness.

“Shoulda watched your mouth, boy.”

_________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

When Tina Goldstein arrives on scene a short time later, rage is mirrored in her eyes at the sight before her. She strides over to Scamander and they share a brief look, both speaking without saying a word. Percy pulls Fontaine aside and instructs him to take Weiss and Lopez to clear the bar and bring Gnarlack into custody, while he remains behind to help the magizoologist and his second in command. With the sleazy goblin out of the way, they can focus on calming the emaciated creatures and moving them down into the Englishman’s case.

It would only serve as a distraction if the owner stayed within cursing distance to the bonded couple. If Scamander were to strike, Goldstein would surely follow her soulmate.

With a gentle touch the Nundu is easy enough to convince. Scamander speaks in a low soothing voice as he tends to the massive feline, gently stroking its flank as Goldstein breaks the magical seal on the collar where it falls to the floor with a loud clang. The beast, who the magizoologist has affectionately named Benny, purrs appreciatively and knocks his head against the man’s shoulder before being coaxed into the suitcase with an offering of raw meat.

The Basilisk is trickier. The botched curse that blinds it needs to be swiftly replaced, and it’s Percy that does it, accepting Scamander’s guidance when Goldstein returns from placing Benny in a habitat to help. As soon as she cracks the magical blinders, the director casts a spell to create humane lenses to cover its lethal eyes without hindering its sight. It’s both safe for them as well as comfortable for the giant snake. 

When “Chloe’s” vision returns, the Basilisk thrashes against the bars of her tiny cage, undoubtedly startled by the sudden rush of light, before succumbing to the soft cadence of the Englishman’s voice. Percy stands at a safe distance, wand raised, and his gaze bounces between the ginger and the alert Chimera nearby as the man approaches and offers his hand in greeting. Chloe darts her tongue out, wary of the magizoologist as it flicks across his palm, before pressing into the touch, seemingly not viewing him as a threat. She’s fed several portions of meat to curb her hunger, and only when Scamander deems it safe to do so, the gaudy metal lock is removed from the rusty door with a simple Alohamora.

The Basilisk is quickly corralled into the open case on the floor and the process repeats once it’s placed into a temporary habitat and fed.

Even though the Chimera wasn’t nearly as accommodating as the two previous creatures, requiring twice as much caution as a fire breathing beast demands to ensure the bar doesn’t become an inferno, moving her down into the battered case was nothing compared to the Manticore.

Percy should have said no. He should have put his foot down and strictly forbade Scamander from bringing it out of stasis as soon as the man spoke of it. However, Percy is an idiot when it comes to the Englishman, so it really isn’t that surprising when the director thought nothing of the statement and an infuriated Manticore, disoriented from being put into the magical equivalence of a coma, charged them, launching small quills with a swipe of its tail as it attempted to rip them apart.

Though he hadn’t been quick of thought before, because honestly, bringing a beast with the unsettling face of a human that can devour you whole out of stasis in a small basement should have never been an option, Percy moved with the reflexes of a golden snitch and whipped his wand to send the creature back under. The three of them were panting and drenched with sweat as the Manticore went limp and hovered just above the floor. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Percy blasts the magizoologist with a scathing glare.

“We’re going to pretend like that didn’t just happen,, and that I let it happen” he huffs, staring at the Englishman a moment longer before waving a hand at the unconscious Manticore, “Get it down in the case.”

The Manticore’s still body is levitated down, successfully clearing the room of every hostile creature, and Percy heaves an exhausted sigh. He turns to the bonded couple, making a request for Goldstein to join Scamander in the case to help care for the newly acquired residents, telling them that he’ll carry it back to MACUSA. 

The bar is vacant of all patrons by the time he emerges from the reeking basement. Dixon still stands vigil by the opening, and Percy gathers a group of Aurors with a sharp whistle, instructing them to go down and collect evidence once they pile into the storage room. The Blind Pig is officially closed pending investigation, and once the magically concealed notices are placed on all doors, Percy exits the bar with case in hand to round the corner and disapparate to MACUSA.

Back at Major Investigations, Percy places the case onto the floor next to Goldstein’s desk and raps on the lid three times. There isn’t an immediate answer so he flips the latches and pokes his head through to ask if they need any help. 

“No, thank you!” Scamander hollers back over the distressed roar of the Chimera, “We’ve got it under control.”

Relief washes over him in waves. The fact that he doesn’t have to crawl down into the case to help wrangle four of the most dangerous (Scamander’s voice echoes in the back of his mind,”They’re not dangerous!”) creatures known to the wizarding world allows him to breathe the last tendrils of anxiety from his body that this night has brought. All he wants to do is hurry back to the warmth of his soulmate’s arms and sleep. Paperwork can wait until the morning when he’s has enough caffeine pumping through his veins to power an entire army.

Percy calls down for them to send a patronus if they need him before closing the lid and latching it shut. He takes a moment to speak with Fontaine, telling the man to let Gnarlack sweat for a few hours. They’ll question him first thing when they come in, and with that he dismisses his team of Aurors to go home and get some rest. It’s a little after three and he’s the last, minus the bonded couple in the suitcase, to leave the Major Investigations department.

He’s halfway to the lift when his wand begins vibrating in the holster at his waist, an alert that one of the wards for his brownstone has been triggered. Percy pales and it feels like his heart is being constricted as he sprints the rest of the way, cursing the anti-apparition wards that are heavily weaved all throughout the building. 

It’s after hours so Red isn’t here. Instead he finds Barlow, the goblin that runs it during night shift, effectively startling the beady-eyed attendant as he barrels into the carriage and barks out, “Atrium!”

The goblin closes the gate and smashes a button in compliance, staring at the director with confused shock as the lift lurches and drops, whizzing past each floor until it stops with a loud groaning of gears at the ground floor. Percy wastes no time throwing the gate open before he’s bolting for the exit. The lobby is dead, aside from a couple of receptionists, so he has a clear path, and in a matter of seconds he’s clambering down the steps of the entryway and plowing through the door. 

Instead of going to the designated apparition zone, Percy ducks into an alley by the Woolworth building and twists on the spot. With his throat tight and his anxiety cranked dangerously high, he jogs to his townhouse, stomping up the steps only to freeze when he spots the window of his dining room shattered. No, no, no.

Ice in his veins, Percy draws his wand and busts through the front door, leaving it wide open as he storms across the threshold. There’s a light on in the hallway casting a dancing shadow as something, or someone moves. He berates himself for blowing his cover, but doesn’t let that mistake slow him down as he rushes around the corner, aiming directly at...

“Modesty?” He croaks, voice pitched high. He slips his wand back into the holster and steps closer “Wha—What’s wrong? Where’s Credence?”

If she busted the window to get in, that means she had a reason to. Something has happened, it’s clear from her distraught expression, and it only causes a lead weight to sink in his gut when she surges forward to wrap her skinny arms around him.

“They took him, mister!” She cries, pressing her flushed face against his chest, “Ma and that man. They won’t stop h-hurting him!” She’s snubbing now, cheeks stained with tears as she grips Percy like a lifeline, “I-I didn’t know what else to do.”

His world shatters in a fraction of a second.

Mary Lou Barebone and some man has Credence. They took Credence. They’re hurting him. He wants to ask why and how. He wants to scream his lungs raw and punch holes on the wall. He wants to find the people hurting his soulmate and snap their necks. He wants to demolish that fucking church and set it ablaze with that bitch inside it.

With a shaky breath, Percy embraces the young girl, offering the only sliver of comfort he can while a storm rages inside him. He blinks a few times, fighting back angry tears before kneeling to look Modesty in the eye.

“Do you know where they are?” He asks with quiet urgency.

She sniffles, rubs at her nose and simply nods.

“Take me there. Please.”

*


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Alternating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help is on the waaaaay!
> 
> Warnings:
> 
> Non-graphic violence  
> Hostage situations  
> Blood/general injury  
> Homophobic slurs

Credence  
* * * * *

Waking some time later to someone not-so-gently tapping his cheek, Credence groans, the metallic tang of blood thick and unpleasant in his mouth. When he doesn’t immediately respond, he’s slapped and it makes his head ache. The hand is much smaller in comparison to the brass-knuckled meat bags that pounded into his face earlier.

He’s fairly certain that his nose is broken, and his cheekbone isn’t fairing all that well either, so the slap causes immense pain to flair up and a light trickling of blood from a previously dried up cut. 

Mary Lou.

“Wake up,” she demands in a tight voice, gripping him by the collar of his shirt and shaking him roughly, “I have a few questions for you to answer.”

He grunts in pain but lifts his head in the direction of her voice, not too keen on being slapped again for a lack of acknowledgment.

“You’ve been staying with that witch, haven’t you?”

He licks his lips and braces himself for the swift punishment his snappy comment is going to receive.

“Wizard,” he corrects her out of spite, “and you obviously knew that if you had Chastity and your henchman show up at his house.” He snarks, reflexively crying out when something whips across his cheek, cutting into the flesh and causing a new blood trickle.

“You’re in no position to be sarcastic you little beast.” He can hear the hiss of anger in her voice.

Credence doesn’t reply, simply lolls his head and feels blood tickle his skin as it rolls down his jaw to drip onto his new clothes. There’s a spell to get that out, right? There’s a spell to wash dishes so surely there must be one to get blood out of insanely expensive fabric?

“He’s taken you inside the Woolworth building. Don’t even bother being smart with me because I’ve watched the two of you go in there. That’s their headquarters isn’t it?”

So this was an interrogation. She expected him to spill information about the wizarding world and planned to beat it out of him if he refused? Well, he’s certainly been beaten enough in his life to be prepared for this. He remains silent.

A hand suddenly grips his jaw hard, fingers digging into the cut. He bites his tongue to prevent himself from vocalizing his pain.

“You will tell me what I need to know, Credence,” Mary Lou says in a low, threatening voice.

“Why?” He can’t help but spit out.

“That is none of your concern. You need only to worry about answering my questions honestly. I’ll know if you’re lying.” It’s like he’s six again and she’s holding the threat of bed without supper over his head, and the thought makes his sick.

The sudden thump of heavy footsteps tells him he’s not alone. It’s that man again. The man that gets carried away with his hits like he has a personal grudge against Credence, but he’s never met this man before in his life. He would remember that rough gravelly voice anywhere; It’s like the man has smoked two packs of cigarettes a day since he was a child.

He wonders if he’s a member of the church. Sure would explain his lack of empathy and heavy hand.

“The Woolworth building...” she repeats expectantly, her tone bearing the weight of punishment. Probably more pain if he doesn’t comply.

“...was the tallest building in the world from 1913 to 1930,” he mutters, amazed at his own boldness and memory, “It was designed by Cass Gillbert,” he adds with a small bloody smile.

He refuses to give her what she wants.

Mary Lou doesn’t say anything, and he can hear the light tap of her shoes recede. He tenses and braces himself when the heavier ones slowly draw closer. He takes a hard blow to the stomach by a foot, steel-toed, he realizes through the mania of pain.

“Have you got any more of that truth potion left?” He hears Mary Lou ask the man quietly, and even through the overwhelming pain he blanches. 

“I’m afraid not. It’s hard to acquire,” her henchman murmurs just as softly.

Credence doesn’t know why, but he begins to laugh; a harsh wheezing sound that causes pain to fan up within his chest and stomach, burning his body from the inside out.

“Y-you despise witches but you use their potions?” The thought makes him laugh even harder and his head drops to rest against his trembling chest as his lungs rattle and tighten from the effort.

Amazingly he’s isn’t struck, but he can hear the rage when Mary Lou speaks again, her voice is pitched low and wavers with each word.

“We are using their own tools against them.”

“That—that’s so hypocritical,” he states.

This time a blow does come, hard and unforgiving to the center of his chest where the brass knuckles impact and dig in and he feels a sharp crack. The pain is instant and Credence screams from the searing intensity of it, along with the sudden strain it puts on breathing.

Perhaps he pushed a bit too far.

The man is relentless, getting in two more punches before he stops, and that only amplifies the scorch he feels within his lungs. He’s definitely wheezing now, and blood sputters and flecks from his mouth as he struggles to take a breath.

“Credence,” Mary Lou says sternly, shuffling close, and when she speaks again her voice is startles him at the proximity, as if she’s knelt beside him, “If you want it to stop you will answer my questions.”

He remains silent, stubborn even as pain razes through him like a all-consuming wildfire.

“This...man,” she spits the word, like it’s sour on her tongue, “He is the head of witch security, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” he pants, spitting blood from his mouth, uncaring if it lands on her or not, “And he’s going level this building when he finds me. Don’t be surprised if you’re still in it when that happens.”

_________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

The location was easy enough to find with Modesty’s help. A broken down house on the corner of Allen and Canal that looks to be one strong wind away from collapsing. When they arrive, Percy has the presence of mind to send a wandless patronus to Fontaine requesting back up. Were the circumstances different, he would have cherished the mingled confusion and delight on Modesty’s face when the wolf races off with his message. As it is, Percy gently takes her arm and guides her into an alley across the street to wait for the Aurors.

He’s itching to bust inside and find Credence (and beat the shit out of whoever took him) but it would be dangerous to go in there alone.

Modesty’s soft voice brings him out of his dark, anxious thoughts, “Yours is different.”

“What?” He asks, tearing his eyes away from the crumbling building to look at the little girl with a perplexed expression. She surprises him by reaching out to take his wrist, pushing his coat and shirt sleeves back to brush her small fingers over the gold soulmark. She then does the same with her own sleeves to show the moving timer on her wrist.

“Mine’s some kind of clock, I think.”

She stares at the mark curiously and Percy’s heart clenches. Just like her brother she has no knowledge of what the timer means, or that she’s a witch, for that matter. A resurgence of the same emotions he experienced with Credence swirl through him at full force. Longing, grief, rage.

“It shimmers,” she gasps, turning his arm to the left and right, and it does in fact glint, like a shiny coin as the dim yellow of the street light catches it.

“May I?” Percy asks softly, lifting his free hand to gesture at her wrist. She offers it and he carefully draws the sleeve back further.

11:09:01:22:01:36

It’s the same sleek black ink that had adorned his wrist just days before, steadily ticking down to the moment the young girl’s soulmate would forever change her life. His heart threatened to swell and burst at the gleam of her wide, innocent eyes. She was going to have a chance at a happy childhood after all of this was over; Percy would make sure of that.

“Do you know what it is?” She asks, her voice a whisper as she watches him swipe the numbers in a gentle caress with his thumb.

“That’s a conversation best saved for later,” he murmurs, still hyper aware of Credence’s absence. He can feel it like like a painful hand gripping his spine, tugging him in the direction of his soulmate. He wonders if Credence can feel it too. “I’ll tell you all about it once we get your brother back.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she replies, the hint of a playful smile tugging up the corner of her mouth.

Percy gazes at the young girl with open warmth. He can see why Credence is very fond of her.

They stand in the alley for what feels like hours, and his anxiety slowly rising with every passing minute. He’s certain that Fontaine received his patronus, but the amount of time it’s taking for the team to arrive has his him on edge. Every second he doesnt find Credence is another second those monsters could be torturing him. The thought leaves him with renewed fury and he suddenly finds himself tugging Modesty across the street and into the narrow alley adjacent to the eroding building. They crouch against it, and out of reflex Percy draws his wand, thinking of the best way to go about this.

“You’re a witch.” Modesty squeaks, her eyes wide with intrigue as she examines the onyx wood in his hand, “I was going to say something earlier with the ghost wolf, but I thought maybe I was just tired and seeing things...”

“Wizard,” he corrects softly, “But you’re right.” You’re just like me, he thinks. That can wait for now. There was plenty of time for necessary explanations once Credence has been retrieved.

“Ma says that witches worship the devil, make human sacrifices and dance naked under the harvest moon,” she says quietly, dragging her eyes away from the silver inlay to gaze at him with a thoughtful expression, “You don’t look like you do any of those things.”

Percy huffs a humorless laugh, “I haven’t danced naked under a harvest moon since my fifth year at Ilvermorny. It was very cold and I do not recommend it.”

Modesty stares at him with her mouth agape, seemingly waiting for him to say that he’s joking. 

He’s not. September is a dreadful month to be outside in your birthday suit, even with alcohol to warm you. 

A sharp creak from the front of the house jolts them both and Percy tenses, instinctively placing himself in front of the girl as they press close and low to the building. The tap of feet descending the cement steps echo out into the darkness and they watch as a slim silhouette comes into view and walks along the path leading to the sidewalk. It isn’t until they pass by the street lamp on the corner that Percy makes out the harsh profile of Mary Lou Barebone.

He forces the growl bubbling in his throat down and grips the the handle of his wand tightly. It would be so satisfying to bring her down with a curse. The temptation gnaws at him, all sharp teeth and razor edges digging into his tender flesh demanding blood. Instead of giving into the urge to maim the woman, he simply watches his face pinched in anger as she clops along and disappears around a corner.

“I think she’s going back to the church,” Modesty whispers, reaching out to grip the sleeve of his coat with a trembling hand. The poor girl is terrified.

He turns his face to look at her and replies, “Do you think that man is still in there? Or your sister?”

“The man is probably still inside, he hasn’t left since him and Chastity took Credence from your house, but she went back to the church afterwards.”

This startling new piece of information is both unexpected and infuriating. Credence trusted his sisters, and the older one betrayed him. It’s possible that she was forced into it, but his heart still bleeds at the thought of his soulmate’s trust being broken.

“Was there anyone else in the house when you were here earlier?” 

Modesty shakes her head. 

One person, then. Surely Percy could manage one no-maj on his own. It’s been ten minutes since they crossed the street and there’s still no sign of his Aurors. Impatience and fear were eclipsing everything else, and it felt as if a chasm were growing in his chest the longer they waited. 

“You stay here,” he insists, catching Modesty’s wide eyes with his firm gaze, “If you see a group of people show up you can go to them. Tell them you’re with Percival Graves, they’ll know what to do. If not, just wait here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“But—“

“Modesty, please,” he pleads, voice thick with urgency as he searches her face, needing her to understand, “Your brother would be very upset if something happened to you. I would be upset. Please.”

Her lips thin in evident displeasure and her eyes blaze bright and fierce, but she nods. “Okay.”

With her agreement to remain behind, Percy takes her hand and gives it a firm yet gentle squeeze. He gazes at her pale face for a moment longer, pained to note the distress knitted heavily on her brow, before letting go to make his way past her and sneak further along the building, hoping to find a discreet entrance.

_________________________________________  
Credence  
* * * * *

Everything hurt. After the brave statement he made, Mary Lou had stepped back and allowed the sadistic man to do as he pleased. Apparently he had been holding back earlier, because every strike was now ten times worse. A gash across his cheek burned from where blood dried and pulled at his skin. His lip was busted to the point of being numb and his nose had been shown no mercy.

He managed to hang onto consciousness and they finally left him alone. Throughout the entire altercation he had clutched his soulmark, and the skin over it was swollen and irritated from his nails digging in. He rubbed his fingers along it and was helpless to the growing despair that filled him to the point of overflowing. It boiled within and angry tears welled up in his eyes, spilling hotly only to be absorbed by the heavy fabric covering them.

He tugged his wrists in a fit of rage, gritting his teeth as the rope bit viciously into the tender skin beneath it. He thrashed and pulled, leaning forward with as much strength as he could muster and released a frustrated shout when his bindings wouldn’t give. If only he could free his hands!

Credence bared his teeth, bitter at Mary Lou and the man and the situation he was forced into. He angrily imagined himself breaking free, imagined the ropes that kept him prisoner snapping and falling to the floor. He envisioned it so vividly and with such intense focus that he was startled to feel that his bindings were suddenly not so tight.

He froze, wondering if he had perhaps imagined it, but as he slowly tugged at the rope he was surprised to find that they were now, in fact, loose. Hope burned through him at the discovery, and it’s that spark in the darkness that he clung to as he once again directed all thought to his bound wrists.

The rope grated his skin as Credence pulled against it, but he soldiered on, imagining the coarse threads fraying, imagining them loosening and coming undone. There was a soft crack and his arms suddenly jerked, having gained a bit more slack. Heart pounding in his chest, he focused all of his attention and envisioned the rope falling away, and with his jaw tightly clenched, Credence pressed his wrists together before quickly snatching them apart. The rope gave an audible snap and his arms swung free.

He did it. He was no longer bound.

With the roaring pulse in his ears, Credence quickly lifted the blindfold from his eyes and winced at he low light in the room. He squinted, keeping his gaze to the floor as his vision slowly acclimated, and when the pain from being sightless for so long finally began to subside, Credence opened his eyes.

He had been right. It was a basement, albeit small, dingy and mostly empty, only filled with a few pieces of busted furniture and other items. In the the corner to the left was a shovel, several bags of salt ice melt and a dented metal pail. To the right, a series of wooden pallets, some with busted boards and others broken in half. No windows, and the only point of entrance was a set of steps leading to a paint-peeled, rusty door. 

To his immediate left he spotted a flashlight lying on the floor and swiftly grabbed it. It was one of those heavy duty metal flashlights and had a nice heft to it. Credence glanced towards the exit before tucking the flashlight under his shirt.

Naturally, the first thing he wanted to do was get the hell out of that room, out of this godforsaken building, but he needed to have a plan. It’s very likely that the door is locked, and even more likely that the man was waiting on the other side, watching it. He shuddered at the thought of getting free and running out only to be captured as soon as he crossed the threshold.

No, he’d have to bide his time. 

With shaking hands Credence picked up the rope that had kept him captive, momentarily awestruck at the clean break, and stuffed it into his pocket. He then checked to make sure that the flashlight was properly concealed and wouldn’t be noticed before reluctantly pulling the makeshift blindfold back over his eyes. It pained him to do so, but if he was going to get out of this place alive he would have to be smart about it and wait for his captor to bring him the key to his freedom. So he folded his legs beneath him, steeling himself for what was to come.

Time passed at a sluggish pace, and he used it to brainstorm, going over different scenarios that could happen in his head. If he were lucky the man would come in alone. If not, well, he was still working out the what-ifs to that one. The initial adrenaline that pumped through his veins when he broke free was still pulsing thick, fueled by his survival instincts, so much in fact that he was trembling from it. The pain he had been saturated with was now a dull triviality in the face of escaping.

His thoughts shifted to Percy, wondering if the man was still at work or if he had returned home to find him missing, and a familiar tugging sensation gripped him at the thought. Credence had no idea what time it was, there was now way of knowing in this basement void of any windows or clocks. Part of him wished that his timer was still in tact and ticking, because at least then he would know; after all he had watched the mark religiously his whole life and it could be used in place of any watch.

The door suddenly clicked and creaked open, effectively blasting Credence from his thoughts and cranking his pulse into overtime. He hurriedly placed his hands behind him to make it seem as if he were still bound and held his breath, listening as the door shut, followed by the familiar clunk of the man’s boots as he approached. He took his time, an obvious intimidation tactic that had worked on the young man before. But that had been before.

Instead of the sound instilling fear, it rang out like a triumphant fanfare, filling Credence with strength for every heavy footfall.

When the blindfold was replaced, Credence made sure not to pull it down as far as it had been, leaving a small enough space just along his cheeks so that when he leaned his head against the metal beam he would have a small sliver in which to see from. He did so now, giving the illusion of resting his head, and pressed back until he could vaguely make out the blur of a tall, bulky man wearing a dark trench coat. He couldn’t quite see details, but that wasn’t really necessary for what he intended to do. All he need to know was where he was.

His captor thumped closer, arms folded behind his back and shoulders at ease. Fear from the tortures he had endured was replaced with a simmering vengeance, scalding him with an immense pressure that made his insides ache to release. Credence clenched his jaw and kept his face neutral as he watched the man stop before him. At this distance he could only see the man from the waist down, but the most important part was that he would be able to see his arms if he moved to strike.

Waiting patiently to see what would happen, Credence glances down at the man’s feet and grimly notes that he is indeed wearing steel-toe boots; battered brown leather with several drops of what is undoubtedly his own blood dried upon the toe of the right shoe. That most likely happened during the last encounter when he had fallen forward with his head bowed, supported by his bindings, and bled freely, presumably on the man’s foot.

The silence dragged on, and all Credence could hope for was that the man turned around, if only for a second. One second is all he needed.

The man shuffled from one foot to the other, perhaps staring down at him, and as if fate were blessing him with a miracle, he slowly turned his back, glancing towards the basement door. Seizing his moment, Credence quietly snatched the blindfold off with his left hand and retrieved the flashlight with his right, silently rising from his cross-legged position, much to his body’s vehement protests. His knee screamed in agony and his muscles tensed, but he was determined to make the most of this one chance to escape. 

With a tight grip on the grooved handle, Credence drew back his arm and swung hard, striking the bulbous end of the flashlight against the man’s skull with a sickening thud. There’s a rough grunt and he goes down hard, crumbling to a heap on the hard cement. Credence limps to the door as fast as his knee will allow, dropping the flashlight by the steps as he clambers up them and grips the tarnished knob with both hands, panic draining him pale as he frantically twists to the left and right. It’s locked.

No, no, no.

An unbidden sob leaves his throat at the discovery, and Credence tries again, turning the handle back and forth in a violent manner as he slams his full weight against the peeled surface in hopes that it’s jammed. It’s not working, and nothing he seems to do makes it budge. It’s been locked from the inside, with no visible lock that can be seen, meaning...

Credence jerks his head around to look at the man man lying prone by the beam. Without the blindfold obscuring his vision he can see short grey-blonde hair, a full beard and stubby facial features; crooked nose, thin lips, bushy eyebrows and a deep, jagged scar across his right cheek. There’s blood running down his face from his hairline and his sunken eyes are closed.

With a heaving chest and tight throat, Credence swallows hard and releases the doorknob, turning from his blocked path to freedom to slowly hobble down the worn steps and back to the man that has caused him so much pain. 

He has to have a key on him, and even though the thought of touching this man makes his stomach lurch and twist uncomfortably, Credence cautiously approaches him, gaze locked onto the pock-marked face in high alert for any signs of consciousness. His pulse now thunders loudly in his head, louder than the constant drip that’s kept him company during his entire stay, which he absently notices leaking from a thin pipe along the ceiling, and the rush of blood climbs to near deafening levels as he shakily reaches forward to begin checking pockets.

The first ones he starts with are the breast pockets of the trench coat, willing the tremor in his hands to calm as he slips his fingers in to fish around. All he finds is a cheap pack of spearmint gum with two sticks missing in the left one and a crumpled scrap of paper in the right. He moves along to the rest of the coats pockets, patting them down gently, but with no less urgency, only to find them empty. He lifts the coat open and checks for hidden pockets, dipping his hand into the one sewn in above at the breast. Nothing.

When his search of the coat yields nothing beyond a convenience store receipt in the right hip pocket, Credence stares at the man’s face with a nervous sweat beading along his forehead and he scans for any twitches of movement that would indicate wakefulness as he pushes the coat aside to gain access to the pockets of his captor’s jeans. With anxiety that threatens to bring him to his knees, he pats along the denim fabric and nearly cries out in relief when he feels a strange hard outline beneath. He rushes to slide his fingers in, joy exploding inside him when the tips catch on what he is certain is a ring of keys.

He’s working to pull them out of the tight space, panting short, shallow breaths as he tugs and wiggles the keys. He’s so focused on the task at hand that he doesn’t notice sludge brown eyes opening, only becoming aware of the fact when a large hand swiftly snaps onto his wrist and squeezes the damaged skin hard. Credence let’s out a startled yelp and instinctively jerks his arm, to no avail. He swings his neck to look down at the man with wide eyes and his breath falters when he sees the searing rage directed at him.

“Big mistake,” the man growls.

_________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

Strangely enough there aren’t any side doors to be found, so Percy settles for a grimy window at shoulder height. He peers with squinted eyes through the filthy glass, only able to make out a dim light in a distant room as he searches. This room appears to be empty, and with a swift flick of his wrist the glass promptly vanishes. He briefly scans the area; dusty uneven floor, stained peeling wallpaper, battered door open and hanging from one lone hinge. The light he saw before is very faint and coming from another room of the house, what he’s imagining to be a living room or kitchen. 

Percy casts a silencing charm upon his shoes before quietly gripping the window frame to climb into the building. He heaves himself through the tight space and carefully unfolds his legs to touch down on the hardwood without a sound. Quickly surveying his surroundings as he moves forward, cautious and alert to any noise or movement, he keeps his wand pressed close to his side.

The room exits into a long hallway with multiple doors, but the only source of light he can see is pouring in from a warped archway to the right and straight, and it’s that direction he moves towards. When he draws closer to the opening, Percy presses his back to the wall and slowly peeks around the corner with his wand in a vice-grip. It’s an empty, wide open room, most likely intended to be a living space, with a single door to the right, and to the left he finds the dull light, flooding out onto the dilapidated floor from another archway. 

A kitchen, he thinks.

On mute feet he proceeds, slipping from the hallway and into the room. Percy approaches the second arch and does the same as before, pressing his back to the wall before carefully glancing around where he indeed finds a kitchen. It’s been gutted of all appliances, leaving behind a series of gapped counters and a sink bare of its faucet and piping. The floor is a black and white checkered tile, with a few of them missing and several busted down to the foundation. The walls were probably white once upon a time, but now they’re a disgusting smudged yellow with a visible layer of grim near the baseboards; water damage, from the looks of it.

A crooked table sits against the right wall with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a bottled water on top, and two mismatched chairs around it. There aren’t any windows but, similar to the previous room, there’s a single rusted and paint-chipped door to the right, next to the table, that makes Percy’s heart race. Screwed into the wall is a latch that’s swung back with an open padlock hanging from it. Why would a door need to be locked in such a manner if not to keep something, or someone, in.

Adrenaline courses through his veins as he steps into the decaying kitchen, checking his rear once again as he approaches the door. He briefly glances down at the table, examining the Marlboro Red brand cigarettes and scuffed green BIC lighter sitting haphazardly next to it. He wouldn’t peg the Barebone woman as a smoker, and can only assume that they belong to the unknown captor. Percy’s jaw clenches as an unbidden image of the man harming his soulmate flickers across the forefront of his mind, and he swiftly banishes it before it can take root and fester. He can’t afford to let his fury take over, because as soon as it does all rational thought will melt away and his decision making will be severely hindered. He has to hold it together for Credence.

When he’s standing in front of the door, Percy readies his wand and lifts his free hand to wrap his fingers around the knob. As he’s twisting it, a muffled scream sounds out from the other side and his stomach does a free fall to his knees. With a sense of dread he pulls at the door, paling in an instant when he finds it locked. Another cry from within blazes through his veins like an inferno and Percy jerks back, thrusting his wand at the handle with a snarled “Alohamora,” before crushing the handle and forcing the door open.

It creaks loudly in protest, swinging inward to reveal a set of aged steps that lead down into something similar to a basement. Percy’s eyes zero in on the scene below him like a hawk to its prey, and just like that the inferno within shifts into an outright conflagration at the sight of his soulmate with a hand crushing his throat. 

Percy surges down the steps with a feral growl, curse on the tip of his tongue as he points his wand directly at the man who DARES lay a finger on Credence, only to come to a screeching halt at the bottom when the two turn towards him and he notices the revolver pressed flush to the younger man’s temple.

“I wouldn’t point that little stick if I were you,” the man threatens, his voice gritty and harsh, like sandpaper on a chalkboard. The captor places himself behind Credence, whose eyes flashed bright when he saw Percy, and he essentially uses him as a shield—his big, meaty hand is still wrapped tightly around the man’s neck, even as he draws back the hammer on the gun. The distinctive click it creates echoes throughout the room and Percy’s knees buckle as he swiftly lowers his wand.

Of course he could try disarming the man of his weapon with a quick spell, but he wasn’t willing to put Credence at risk like that. If anything were to happen to his soulmate because he thought that he could be quicker than a bullet, one might as well be out into his head too, because he wouldn’t be able to go on living. He’s not going to play a game of chance with everything to lose. 

“That’s it, mister,” the man hums appreciatively before nodding towards his wand, “Now you’re gonna put that on the floor and roll it to me.”

Nostrils flaring and jaw so tight it felt like his teeth were melding together, Percy slowly crouches down to the floor with his free hand held up in a placating manner, and carefully rolls his wand towards the captor. The silver inlay glints several times on its journey before it comes to an abrupt halt under the man’s leather boot.

“Mighty kind of ya,” he says, making no move to retrieve the wand, seemingly content to keep it under lock and key beneath his shoe. He tilts his head to crack his neck before jerking it back to gesture behind him, “Now I want you to enter the room slowly and come stand by this beam here behind us. Attaboy,” he praises when Percy glances at the large metal support jutting from the floor in the back.

“Any funny business and I’ll make a new hole in your twink’s head.”

Credence whimpers softly as the man digs the barrel of his gun into a previous wound, and he bristles violently, every muscle tense from the sheer amount of restraint it takes to keep him from charging. His soulmate wearily stares at him from blackened, bloodshot eyes, and the fear that glazes them crushes Percy as nothing ever had before in his thirty-four years of life. It’s beyond painful to see his beautiful soulmate battered, bloody and broken at the mercy of some extremist filth, and nothing he can do about it. His eyes prickle and sting with frustrated tears as he raises his hands and does as he is told.

The blonde keeps his eyes locked on Percy the whole time, as does Credence, and they both quietly twist in place, the man encouraging the youth to move with a rough nudge, to stay facing him as he makes his way further into the room. He can hear the sharp scrape of his wand against the concrete and winces, indignant at the disrespectful treatment. When he reaches the beam he turns to face them, just as the man turns them the final inch to face away from the open door.

“Sit,” he instructs with a nod, and it’s then that Percy glances down and spots the alarming amount of both dried and fresh blood soaked into the floor at his feet. Rages spikes at the sight and he lifts his face, baring his teeth at the man as he unwillingly lowers himself next to the stain on the floor.

“You fucking bastard,” he growls at the blonde, staring with blazing eyes at his soulmate. He memorizes every cut and bruise on his marred face, especially the disturbing angle in which his busted nose points, allowing it to fuel the flames within him. If the killing curse didn’t come with a guaranteed death sentence he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would cast it in a heartbeat without so much as a blink.

“Whoa, now that’s not very polite,” the man frowns, tapping the short barrel against Credence’s temple as he feigns disappointment.

“Don’t get me started on niceties,” he grits out and clenches his fists tightly. The younger man’s soft wheezes cut through the following silence and his stomach flips at the sound. 

Credence needs a healer.

“Well, for a big shot witch of your status I imagined you’d be a bit more hospitable, but clearly I was mistaken.” The man moves his hand from Credence’s throat and rests it over the center of his chest, causing the youth to tremble and release a pained whine. 

If it weren’t for the ominous presence of the firearm, Percy would have been on his feet in a second, and knocking the man out in half that time. He seethed, his body visibly shaking.

“Let him go!” He snarls, the moisture in his eyes finally spilling down his cheeks.

A soft tutting sound reprimands him and the man rolls his eyes in a mocking gesture.

“You ain’t the one calling the shots here, witch. I suggest that you watch your tone the next time you speak to me, or your little fuck-toy here pays the price for your insolence. We clear?”

“Crystal,” vision red and nails becoming bloody on the concrete, Percy responds calmly, despite the violent storm beating inside.

“That’s better.”

The man smiles and pats Credence on the chest, and it’s abundantly clear from the whimpers and agony etching deep lines across his face that the touch is excruciating. He swallows past the tight lump in his throat and slowly looks at their captor.

“You seem to know about me,” he hisses, “How?”

“I don’t reckon I’ll tell you how I know,” the blonde says matter-of-factly, “I ain’t too keen on playing quid pro quo with a damned queer witch. You’ll answer any questions I ask you, and you’ll get nothing in return, simple as that. Perhaps we’ll give you a little mercy for your cooperation, when the time comes that is.”

Percy sucked the tender flesh of his inner cheek between his teeth and bit down so hard that blood flooded onto his tongue. The pain grounded him enough to keep a blank expression, and he nods his understanding. Asking more questions now would do nothing but harm Credence.

“I’m glad to see we’ve reached the same page,” the man smiles, eyes crinkling in genuity, and the sentiment sickens him. He would love nothing more than to beat this soulless bastard within an inch of his life, and then would gladly go that remaining inch with a real, genuine smile of his own.

“Now...”

The man stretches his neck once more and Credence takes that moment to offer Percy a sad smile, his busted lip straining from the effort and his heart constricts painfully, as if barbed wire were wrapped around the tender organ and digging deeply. His eyes flutter as more tears build behind them, but he manages to return a shaky smile of his own, as much as it hurts.

“...I need you to tell me how to get into Woolworth.”

Normally he would have been tempted to ask, ‘What, can’t just wave your gun around and make them open the door?’ but with the barrel of said gun now nestled against his soulmate’s head, the retort was understandably not on his list of replies.

Instead he says, “Being a no-maj, there’s no way that you can access the building, assuming you mean the magical side. It is physically impossible for you to see our headquarters, let alone make heads or tails of it. It’s heavily charmed against non-magic individuals, and the likelihood of you being able to cross the threshold is not feasible.”

“Let’s say I could enter the building. How do I get past your pesky doorman?”

Not only does this man know what Percy is, he also knows the location of MACUSA, and that knowledge rests with heavy discomfort in his chest. There’s either an informant feeding these people information, or he’s looking at a Squib. 

Regardless, the fact that he’s asking for a way into the Woolworth building is wildly alarming.

Percy huffs an irritated sigh, “There’s a detector just beyond the entrance that reads magical signatures. The doorman might let you in if you’re quick of wit and say the right thing, but you can’t trick the detector.”

It’s not a lie. There is a particular set up just beyond the doors that picks up on an individuals magic, which is helpful in both catching potential wanted witches and wizards that might wander in, unknowing of the charm, and working as a back up deterrent to turn no-majs away with a simple spell that makes them forget why they’ve entered the building, encouraging them to turn around and exit.

He did, however, neglect to mention that Squibs can enter, in the hopes that this man is ignorant about magical signatures, should he turn out to be one.

Credence keeps his eyes trained on Percy during the back and forth and his naturally porcelain pallor grows sickly pale as time ticks by. His soulmate needs medical attention immediately if he has a chance to survive his injuries.

“Please, let him sit,” he begs quietly and his voice breaks with the desperation bearing down on it.

The man adjusts his hand across the others chest and he watches helplessly as Credence’s knees buckle.

“He’s fine,” the captor drawls, thumping his soulmate’s chest as he did earlier, and Percy can see the neutral mask slip from the man’s face to reveal a sliver of the cruelty beneath. 

“Have some fucking mercy,” he spits, rising from the floor unconsciously at the series of distressed noises coming from the shaking hostage.

“Sit the fuck down,” the man commands in a raised voice as he reasserts his dominance with a harsh thump of his gun against Credence’s temple. He has to wrap his arm around the youths chest to keep him upright, and the action causes Percy to audibly growl.

“I’ll kill you,” he hisses, still crouched and very much on edge. The rush of blood in his ears roars and threatens to deafen him. If the man could move his gun away from Credence’s head just for a moment he could...

There’s a sudden loud thump and their captor grunts before releasing his hold on Credence to topple to the cement. The young man falls as well, his weak legs finally giving out with the lack of support and Percy serges forward, his own legs howling at the sensation of pins and needles, to catch his soulmate before he hits the ground.

He manages to soften the blow with his body, using himself as a safety net as Credence slams into his chest. His arms automatically wind around slender shoulders and he pulls the battered, shivering man into his lap, where he promptly melts against the older wizard with a broken whine.

“Sh-h-h, I’ve got you love,” he whispers, his lips pressed against the clammy skin of his soulmate’s forehead, “You’re safe now, Credence.”

Tremors wrack through the weight in his lap and Percy carefully tightens his embrace, offering both his body heat and touch to comfort and soothe the other. He eventually lifts his gaze, having briefly become distracted, to stare with wide, startled eyes at a familiar head of light blonde hair and thin arms rising high above it. Modesty swings down with what appears to be a...flashlight? She slams it into the man’s unconscious form several times and Percy simply watches her with his mouth agape.

Seemingly pleased with the state of her victim, the young girl drops the no-maj light upon the man’s head, where it makes a sharp crack upon impact. Her eyes then examine his body and she spots the small revolver and, with the most calm he’s ever seen a ten year old possess, wiggles the weapon out of his hand to point it at him before looking at Percy.

“I got tired of waiting,” she states in response to his flabbergasted expression, panting softly from the exertion of bludgeoning the man.

“I can see that...”

*


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re getting close to the end, folks!
> 
> Not entirely sure how many more chapters there will be, but we’re definitely getting close to the home stretch!

Credence  
* * * * *

Time seemed to grind to a halt as Credence toppled forward, from the agonizing iron-grip of his captor into a warm embrace. He teetered back and forth between dark ripples of silence and the chaos happening around him in reality. With his vision offline, he grasped weakly at the thread of sound in the distance, vaguely aware of clambering footsteps and muffled shouting; a scream of desperation, demanding something. 

The person wailed, a heartbreaking sound, and he felt himself being cradled so gently in a pair of strong, possessive arms. 

Percy.

His soulmate had found him, his fragile mind recalled, in this cold, wet basement where he had begun to lose hope. To whisk him away from the hands of cruelty that had given him so much pain. 

Even if he were to die in this moment, Credence took comfort in the fact that he wouldn’t be alone when he left this world, and it’s with that singular thought, and another urgent shout echoing around him, that he allowed the aether of his mind to take him. He released the thread, his thin link to the outside, to sink deep into calm, soothing waves, leaving at the shore his fatigue and agony to wade out into sweet, all-encompassing peace.

_________________________________________  
Percy  
* * *

The pulse within his soulmate was very weak, almost nonexistent, and Percy cried out in despair as the Aurors finally arrived, the thunder of their footsteps dwarfed by the man as he screamed at them to get a healer here at once. In his grief he barely noticed Weiss rushing to do so, nor did he register the commotion around him.

He had first thought to apparate Credence to St. Jouge’s himself, but quickly remembered that it would be far too risky in the man’s fragile condition. 

Not until he’s stabilized first. 

Percy calls his wand to him, sliding the scuffed length of wood back into the holster when it flies into his hand before turning back to Credence. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and his breathing became erratic as he stared down at his soulmate’s slack features. With hyperventilation threatening him, Percy forces himself to take steady breaths and try to calm down.

He gently drags the pad of his thumb across the superficial injuries lining his face and watches as each offending gash and laceration shrinks, puckers, and vanishes, leaving the skin smooth as if the wounds had never existed. Although Percy might be an adept wizard, he only has the capacity to heal minor afflictions with field magic, and as much as it pains him, he refrains from attempting any large scale healing on Credence. 

He doesn’t trust himself not to cause more damage in his frenzied state.

To his right Fontaine has taken over, barking out orders for perimeter containment and apprehension of the suspect. The man whips his wand out to send a Patronus to MACUSA, requesting the preparation of a cell as well as disclosing their current location to the DMLE. The coyote bounds off with his instructions before he rushes to Percy’s side and squats, a solemn expression crossing his features as he examines Credence.

“Where’s the damn healer!?” Fontaine shouts over his shoulder, directed at Weiss who hurries over, relaying the message that they’ll be here soon.

“What the fuck is taking them so long?” He hisses.

Off to the side Percy vaguely notices Goldstein, appearing just as worn out as he feels, as she approaches Modesty with a gentle smile and placating hand. She urges the young girl to hand over the pistol, offering a soft thank you when it’s placed into her waiting palm where she swiftly unloads it, shrinks both the weapon and bullets down with a quiet mutter, and slides everything into a clear conjured evidence bag. When that is finished she hands it off to another Auror and shimmies out of her coat, draping it over Modesty’s small shoulders where it instantly engulfs the young girl.

Several of his Aurors crowd around the unconscious assailant, checking his pockets in search of other weapons or identification, before a quick spell creates a pair of magical cuffs that pop into existence, softly clicking as they encircle his wrists. 

If Credence weren’t clinging to life in his arms, Percy would have stormed over to the prone, nameless figure and rained down justice with his own hands. Even now as he watches his Aurors prepare the man’s limp body for transport to MACUSA, anger seethes within him—thick, scalding and in desperate need of expelling. 

It’s the shallow, uneven rise and fall of his soulmate’s chest that keeps him rooted in place. 

He forces his eyes away, only lifting his head after a flurry of movement and a chorus of loud cracks tell him that the cuffed man has been taken away. The brief glance he allows himself confirms it.

It’s for the best, he begrudgingly thinks. As wonderful as blasting that sorry sack of shit into oblivion would feel, his soulmate needs him, and he’s fairly certain that he would land himself a murder charge because he knows that he’d use the worst Unforgivable.

No, it’s for the best.

Fear grips his throat tightly as Percy holds Credence close, mindlessly stroking his hair, and the emotion continues to strangle him as he gazes down at the battered body he holds. 

The very real possibility that the man cradled in his arms could succumb to his injuries has Percy on the verge of a supermassive meltdown, and it’s as tendrils of anguish dig into his raw insides that a sharp crack rings out, followed by the urgent tapping of shoes as two healers rush over to them.

He lets out a broken cry of relief as they kneel.

When the mediwizard, an elderly Hispanic man with half-moon spectacles, moves in to take Credence from him, Percy barely manages to suppress a snarl. Sensing his reluctance, the man draws back, arms lifted in a non-threatening gesture.

“That’s alright, Director; you can hold him if you’d like. I just need to perform a few diagnostic spells.”

The man doesn’t wait for a response as he lifts his wand and waves it over Credence’s unconscious form. A ribbon of colored lights flow from the tip and sink into him, and it’s only a moment later that the mediwizard begins to speak quickly.

“Sternal fracture resulting in a collapsed lung, massive internal bleeding,” the mediwizard adjusts his glasses, “The organ is filling with blood and must be healed at once. Healer Bernard, prepare a gurney while I stabilize the patient.”

At the brief diagnosis Percy lets out a pitiful sob, startling several of his Aurors standing nearby. He attempts to reel his snubs in as he watches the man work, failing miserably to keep his vision from blurring with moisture. It’s when his shoulders begin to give sharp jerks from the strain of holding back tears that a small body presses against his back and thin arms loop around his neck.

“Credence is gonna make it, Mr. Graves,” Modesty’s tearful voice whispers into his ear, “He’s too stubborn to let something like this beat him.”

A strangled noise leaves his throat, something caught between a laugh and whine, as tears spill down his cheeks. It’s the young girl’s comforting weight against him that keeps Percy from breaking. Her very presence lends him the strength he had been lacking, and it’s with her firm words of reassurance that he’s able to equip a brave mask, and press his temple to hers.

She’s right. Credence is strong and he will make it through this; he can’t let himself think otherwise.

The healer casts a series of complex spells, most of which are unfamiliar to him, weaving them effortlessly over Credence’s chest as he presses a flat palm to his sternum. After several minutes of this the mediwizard concludes the spell with a flick of his wrist and slips his wand away before carefully gripping the young man’s jaw. 

Healer Bernard unstoppers a vial and leans over to drizzle a bright red potion into Credence’s open mouth; the skilled massage of fingers gently coax the liquid down his throat, and color slowly begins to return to Credence’s ghostly pallor. His breathing becomes easier, no longer broken or strained, and only then does Percy release the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“He’ll need another blood-replenishing potion soon, but for now I’ve managed to mend his sternum and correct the damage to his lungs,” the mediwizard states evenly as he stands.

“The immediate danger has been averted, but we must take him to St. Jouge’s at once to keep it that way. Healer Bernard, he’s stabilized enough for transport; If you will—“

Percy is loathe to release Credence, but he ultimately relents, battling against his irrational mind to allow the blonde mediwitch to carefully lift his soulmate with a smooth Levitation charm and deposit him onto a Transfigured stretcher. 

He rises quickly, with Modesty as his shadow, and walks over to his mate. His pale face is clear of cuts and gashes, however the presence of dried blood and dark, ugly bruises staining his skin causes the Auror to bristle all over again. The thing inside him roars, furious and bloodthirsty.

Biting back a growl, Percy reaches out and ghosts his knuckles across Credence’s cheek, sorrow a painful bloom behind his ribs as the healers dance around him to prepare for the jump back St. Jouge. His gaze drifts to Fontaine, who is busy writing on a memo pad, and he’s certain that he must look like a kicked puppy.

Sensing his stare, the man glances up from his writing, offering a sad smile as he nods towards the stretcher.

“Go with them, sir. We’ve got it under control.”

Percy nods his thanks, overcome with gratitude, before turning to Modesty. He’s opening his mouth to speak when she cuts him off.

“I’m going with you,” she states with finality, drawing Goldstein’s coat tight around her small frame as she presses closer, “I want to be with Credence.”

Goldstein has taken up a space beside the young girl, her hand hovering as she looks at Percy, lips parted as if prepared to say that she’ll look after her. He glances from his Senior Auror, down to his soulmate for a moment, taking in his abused face, drifting up to look at the elderly mediwizard, before finally directing his gaze to the young girl.

“I wouldn’t dream of separating you two—“ he says softly, tired, finally feeling the effects that a lack of sleep tends to bring, especially after the adrenaline in his veins has begun to fade.

“—but we must hurry. Here, come take my arm.”

Modesty’s blue eyes light up and she hurriedly shakes the large coat from her shoulders, thanking a bewildered Goldstein as she hands it back and rushes over, grasping Percy’s extended forearm. 

There isn’t time to explain the discomfort that is first-time Apparition, so he firmly grasps the stretchers railing with one hand and simply instructs her to not let go before nodding their readiness to the healers. Confusion flits across her face when he inclines his head to say, “Hold on tight,” and its but a moment later that they’re spinning, blipping through crushing darkness to reappear within the brightly lit Emergency Unit that is St. Jouge’s Hospital for the Ailing and Maimed.

There’s a small team of mediwitches and wizards awaiting them when they arrive and, before the wisps of Apparition have fully dissipated, Credence is rushed down a long hallway of stark white walls. Percy swiftly scoops Modesty into his arms as the poor girl gags, looking green and on the verge of being sick, and he rushes to keep up with the medical convoy.

“I know, darling. It’s the worst,” he murmurs, rubbing a sympathetic hand up and down her back as he strides after the small group, “It’ll pass soon.”

The mediwizard is spouting off instructions to the surrounding healers while swirling his wand above Credence and, based off of the movement and colors, it’s another diagnostic spell.

“What was that?” Modesty croaks loudly, her head lolling back like a ragdoll before falling against his chest with an ungraceful thump.

“Apparition. It’s one way we magic folk get around.”

“Did we go through an empty tube of toothpaste?” She groans, squeezing her eyes shut.

Percy only just manages to silence a chuckle, endeared by her accurate description.

“It certainly feels that way, doesn’t it?”

They make a collection of turns, winding through the building just below a sprint, and Percy briefly notes a large sign with bold text that reads “Intensive Care Unit” on their journey. This hall is much longer than the ones they passed through to get here, with a multitude of rooms on either side, many of which appear to be occupied.

“Several facial fractures; nasal, orbital, zygomatic—Yes, we’re going to Room 25.”

Credence is wheeled into a vacant room on the right, and as Percy follows to enter the mediwizard blocks his path with a hand raised. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait out here, Director Graves,” he says apologetically.

“Like hell I will,” he growls, bristling instantly. 

Modesty wiggles in his hold to turn a glare of her own on the elderly man, seemingly recovered from her Apparition-sickness, at least for the most part.

“I apologize sir, I know you want to be with young Credence, but it’s a small space and we—“

“Make room,” he demands in a dangerously low voice, “Because there’s no way you’re keeping me from my soulmate.”

Wide blue eyes jerk around to stare at him in shock, but Percy keeps his burning gaze locked on the healer. They’re going to have an enraged Director of Magical Security on their hands if they refuse to let him in; he has absolutely zero qualms about making a scene, and his tantrums are top-shelf.

The mediwizard (Healer Ignacio Estefan; Percy finally notices the gleaming badge on the man’s chest) lets out a defeated sigh and offers a quick nod as he straightens his glasses.

“Fine, I’ll allow it; Just stay out of our way, if you don’t mind,” and with that Healer Estefan strides into the room with Percy hot on his heels.

When they enter, he shuffles to one corner of the room, out of the bustle happening around them, and carefully sets Modesty down to stand. The girl immediately leans back against him and he drops his arms to hold her close, the motion natural and familiar, as if they’ve known each other all their lives instead of two hours. She takes his hand and Percy offers a comforting squeeze as they watch helplessly from the sidelines while the healers work to put Credence back together.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Modesty whispers weakly, as if to assure herself, and when he looks down he sees her scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her free hand, the skin coming away wet and shiny when she draws it back.

“Hey,” Percy crouches until they’re level, letting his chin rest on the girls shoulder, “Credence IS going to be okay. You said so yourself; he’s too stubborn,” he nudges her cheek with his own until the stubble on his jaw makes her pull away with a quiet giggle, “Right?”

A sniffle answers him, but she nods quickly and wipes at her red-rimmed eyes once more. 

“There’s a good girl,” with a wink, and an emotional lump stuck in his throat, Percy gives his best, what he hopes is optimistic, smile before returning to their previous stance; and if they grip each other’s hand a bit too tightly well, no one is focused on them trying to crush each other’s fingers.

“You know, you’re taking the discovery of witches quite well,” he comments after a moment, surprised at her calm reaction to seeing magic performed.

A shrug, “Ma always said that witches lived among us. Hearing about it for so long kind of took the shock out of seeing proof, know what I mean?”

“That wasn’t true for your brother,” Percy huffs a laugh. 

An array of vibrant spells and potions are used on Credence, one red vial in particular catches his eye and he immediately recognizes it as the blood-replenishing potion from earlier down in the basement. He’s given a single dose of that, with the same gentle ministration on his throat, before a vial of dark green liquid is pressed to his lips. Although he’s not entirely sure what the potion is, the unmistakable hue tells Percy that it contains dittany, a powerful restorative herb prized for its healing properties and used widely among apothecaries.

One good thing to come from his soulmate’s unconsciousness is that he at least won’t be able to taste the bitter flavor of the draught. 

The potion flows into Credence’s slackened mouth before Healer Estefan vanishes the empty vial with a fluid swish. The mediwizard then leans closer, using the slender fingers of his left hand to poke and prod at the tender, swollen flesh surrounding Credence’s nose as he brings his wand closer, its tip hovering mere inches from his face

Percy barely has time, and presence of mind, to shield Modesty’s eyes when he realizes what’s about to happen, and just as his fingers block her view he hears Estefan mutter an incantation, followed swiftly by a stomach-churning ‘crack’ as his soulmate’s crooked nose snaps back into place.

Grimacing, but glad to see the feature where it’s meant to be, he drops his hand and squeezes the girls shoulder. She gives him a quizzical look before turning to study Credence’s face, expression morphing into grim understanding as she cranes her head to meet Percy’s apologetic gaze.

“Thank you for that,” she mumbles weakly, and an audible click rises as she swallows.

“If I had more time I would have spared you from the sound as well,” he offers with a soft hum.

*

Thirty painful minutes of watching healers swarm around Credence, mending bones and setting him up with spells that magically deliver pain relieving potions at set intervals, before the room clears out and Healer Estefan approaches them with a neutral expression.

“Well?” Percy asks impatiently, his anxious gaze bouncing between the man standing before him and the man lying on the hospital bed, having just been transferred to it only moments before. Modesty shifts in his grasp, sharing his nervous sentiment.

“Well,” Estefan repeats as he rubs his palms together, “We’ve done everything we can; healed a number of fractures and damaged tissue—“ He lifts his bespectacled gaze to Percy, “—The rest is up to Credence. He’s in fair health, all things considered, but I’m afraid that he’s unresponsive. We could attempt to wake him but, in my professional opinion, it would be best to leave him under and allow his body to heal.”

Percy blinks dumbly and pulls Modesty closer; he can feel her shoulders trembling beneath his hands.

“Are you telling me that he’s in a coma?” His voice comes out small and weak, sounding foreign even to his own ears.

“More or less,” the healer replies, turning back to look at Credence, “He’s there, Director. Somewhere in his mind; he has to find his way back.”

It takes Percy a moment to notice that Modesty has slipped away to approach the hospital bed. She leans against the metal handrail and stares down at her brother, his face now smooth and clear of all damage, almost as if he’s sleeping peacefully. He watches as she reaches down to touch his cheek, her small hand cupping it gently. He shuffles closer, quietly observing their interaction before shifting his attention to the healer hovering at the door.

“We’ll keep him in this room until one opens up in the Recovery Unit,” Estefan tells him, slowly making his way over to Percy, “For now, all we can do is keep him hydrated and manage any pain he might be experiencing.”

A hand on his shoulder draws him back from the zone-out his mind was attempting. The healer is at least a foot shorter than him, so he has to look down to meet the man’s kind eyes.

“Shall we prepare a bed for you, Director Graves?”

Percy nods, “Please—“

I’m not leaving him here by himself, he thinks. He’s already suffered enough alone. It would take an Imperius Curse to make him leave, and even then the caster would have one hell of a fight on their hands.

“Very well, sir,” Healer Estefan gives his shoulder a friendly pat before striding over to the open door. On the wall beside it is a blank board, similar to what no-maj hospitals use for patient information, and with a wave of his wand Credence’s name appears in an elegant script, followed by the date, Healer Estefan’s name and the name of whom Percy suspects will be the attending mediwitch, as well as a list of potions.

“I’ll be back within the hour to check Credence’s vitals,” the man states as he slips his wand out of sight, “Healer Polk will take over for the morning shift, and a Jouge’s representative will be by later to speak with you, being his soulmate. Is there anything we can bring you? Or the young lady?”

Modesty is holding Credence’s hand, bent over the railing, in her own little world consisting just of the two. Percy places a hand between her shoulders and turns back to Estefan.

“Water, perhaps? And something to eat if that isn’t too much trouble?”

“I’ll see to it personally,” and with a nod the healer makes a swift exit, leaving them in a tense silence only occasionally broken by a rhythmic beep; an unseen spell recording Credence’s vital signs.

Beneath his hand the young girl is still, her blue eyes distant in thought as she stares down at her brother. Percy drapes his arm around her with a soft sigh.

“He’ll wake up, won’t he?” Modesty finally breaks out of her daze to look at him, and the grief he finds on her face is heavy and heartbreaking.

Percy ignores the sting of forming tears and draws her close to his side.

“Of course he will,” he murmurs, absently stroking his thumb along her arm, “Credence is a strong young man. His body just needs time to rest.”

Her blonde head bobs in agreement as she lifts her hand to wipe at the wet tracks along her cheeks. After another drawn out silence passes between them she suddenly tilts her head back to examine him with a curious expression.

He senses a question coming, and he doesn’t have to be a Legilimens to know what it is.

“You told that man,” she begins quietly, fiddling at the cuff of his sleeve with nervous fingers, “that Credence is your soulmate. What does that mean?”

The brave girl with fierce eyes that beat the absolute snot out of a full-grown man with a flashlight, appearing much older than her ten years, now stares at him with the curious innocence that nearly every child possesses. 

Percy chances a look at Credence, letting his weary gaze drift across the man’s closed eyes and the dark lashes that fan his cheeks. To the smooth line of his brow, the subtle part of his lips, and down further to the strong strumming pulse in his throat where once, not long ago, had been faint enough to send an icy stab of fear through him.

His heart clenches at the sight, and he wants nothing more than to reach out and scoop his soulmate into his arms. To shield and protect him from anything that seeks to cause harm. 

Taking a deep, calming breath Percy glances back to Modesty and her wide searching eyes, patiently waiting for his answer.

“Perhaps it’s time we had that conversation I promised you.”

_________________________________________  
Credence  
* * * * *

It’s dark here. Thick blankets of night that smother everything, leaving nothing to be seen. 

Time also moves differently in this place. Credence has been here for what feels like years, wading in the shadows with only oppressive silence to keep him company. It could be months, it could be hours. Without any light to mark the passage he really has no way of knowing.

There’s a vague memory of the basement with its cold, wet floor and damp, moldy scent. Every now and then he fears that he’s trapped there again, bound at the wrists and blinded with fabric, terror clinging to his back as he waits for the inevitable clunk of steel-toe boots to herald more pain and suffering. In these moments he would writhe, panic seizing his mind, and cry out in desperation. 

Cry out for help. For Percy.

Once the fear and anxiety subsided, aided by the understanding that he is not, in fact, a prisoner to Mary Lou and her sadistic accomplice any longer, Credence struggled to see his surroundings. Nothing can be felt beneath his fingertips, nor does his body rest upon solid fixtures. He drifts, light as a feather, through a dark world like jetsam floating out at sea.

It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Here in the black he could not feel pain. Not the throbbing in his temple or the vicious stabbing in his chest that made breathing difficult. Here he felt numb, comfortably so, and here he drifted, hoping that he might eventually find a shore to walk upon.

Credence had willingly dove into the abyss to escape his agony, but he hadn’t expected to retain his awareness. When you die you lose that, right? 

But was he truly dead? He didn’t really have a body in this place, not in the physical sense at least, and yet he knew that he was whole. Somewhere beyond this chasm he knew that his body was intact; like a sixth sense telling him he’s not completely gone.

Time drags by as he floats along the aether’s surface, stretched out beneath a starless sky, caught somewhere between living and intangible. He doesn’t sleep in this place, not like he had in the waking world, but his eyes are always open. Always searching for a break of light to guide him home; a lighthouse in the distance to show him that he’s not alone. 

Something other than this void.

He thinks of Percy. Of his kind wards, his warm touch and how gently his fingers danced along his skin. Credence remembers how it felt to be pressed flush to the man’s chest, with genuine affection whispered like a secret into his ear, telling him that he is wanted; that he is loved. 

Oh, how he longed for his soulmate. What he wouldn’t give to have just one more day with him; even a single hour to spend in the comfort of his arms would suffice. It brought about a different kind of pain when he thought about it, one that felt tight and threatened to send him into a dizzy spiral. He would plead to the universe in those moments, praying to a god he wasn’t sure he still believed in, to see those warm brown eyes gazing down at him just one last time, if only for a second.

It’s those eyes he missed the most.

Although he’s not certain, as this place has a strange way of warping everything, he sometimes hears a voice, muffled by distance, yet close enough to tickle. Credence strains to make out if its real or simply his mind playing tricks. The voice is soft, often sad in tone, and its presence slices through the deep quiet that suffocates him.

It’s on one such occasion, as he flows aimlessly along the waves of the unknown that the voice speaks to him, gentle as a lover, to coax him from his mindlessness. A single word makes its way to be heard, and it’s the first time since he plunged himself into this inky-black ocean that it takes life.

‘Credence’, it whispers, so painfully tender.

His name hangs like a thread, similar to the one he released upon entering this dreary realm. It dangles above him, the broken web of a spider, a fragile sway, to-and-fro, as if caressed by a breeze. He silences his mind as it echos faintly in the darkness, drawing near, moving along like a smooth stone skipping across a placid lake.

‘Credence’, it beckons, and he finds himself stretching towards it, drawn in by its sirens song. 

It’s right there, hovering just beyond his reach to tempt him with a sweet utterance, like a morsel of bread waved teasingly before a chained, starving man with no hope of ever touching a crumb. 

He lets out a frustrated cry and his own voice comes out distant and disembodied, much like the one courting him. It’s a bizarre thing to experience, as if he’s speaking with his minds voice.

Perhaps he is in his mind, he muses. It certainly would make more sense than this desolate limbo he’s fabricated for himself. If that’s the case, he must be alive.

With the voice slipping miles away from him, Credence gives up the chase to simply listen to its departure, allowing the velvety rumble of it to sooth his loneliness before it truly disappears. If he focuses hard enough he can almost imagine that its Percy, sitting at his bedside and speaking with a soft cadence; promising that everything’s going to be alright, that he’s safe now and that he’ll do everything in his power to make sure that never changes. Breathing his name like a mantra.

‘Credence—Credence—Credence’

A comforting thought with so very little to believe in.

*

The endless night toys with his mind and slowly corrupts his memories the longer he remains here. Credence struggles to remember kind brown eyes and who they belonged to as the abyss robs him blind of those precious comforts. Determination grants him that brown gaze but leaves little else to be plundered. 

It’s when all hope of leaving this black hole has begun to fade that something strange happens. 

He was wandering without a destination for what must have been a lifetime when a dim bluish-silver light dips into his atmosphere. It’s so sudden and unexpected that he reels from it, as startled as a soul without a body can be, and his mind’s eye squints at this serendipitous gift. It takes some time for him to actually comprehend what it is he’s looking at, but when it happens he’s in disbelief.

An ethereal wolf pads gracefully towards him with it’s large head held proudly, and there’s something familiar about it that tugs at him. He’s seen this creature before, a part of him shouts, in a time beyond the darkness, and it’s just as striking now as it was then with its glistening fur and piercing eyes.

A bright beacon amidst all these shadows.

Where has he seen it before?

Delicate wisps of light trail behind the wolf as it prowls, giving the stunning appearance of licking flames, and as it grows closer its much easier for Credence to make out each individual tendril. He watches with baited breath as this new traveler traverses the vast emptiness to stand before him. 

How poised it looks, this magnificent animal, as it quietly sits back on its haunches to appraise him. Theres a sentience there that prickles at him as the wolf tilts its head, seemingly curious. It’s almond eyes, although silver and quite obviously belonging to a beast, remind him of someone, and it’s that notion that urges Credence to press closer with his mind, albeit hesitantly, as if expecting to be bitten for his trouble. Could a ghost-wolf maul him here?

The wolf blinks, quirking its head to the other side as it observes his advancing proximity with a stoic gaze before bridging the gap to scent Credence. 

There’s no sensation when the creature exhales rapid puffs against him, nor does he feel the smooth glide as it stands to circle him, but what he can perceive is a faint warmth; one that nearly shocks his system after so long in this cold expansive space. It radiates against him as the wolf makes its second lap around, and the abundance of comfort that heat brings evokes a shiver, somewhere beyond this gloom, wherever his physical body lies.

With a startled laugh, a ghostly sort of noise, Credence watches the wolf make its final pass and plop down elegantly in front of him. It makes a sharp airy whine before nuzzling the outlines of his mind, and just as before a shiver ripples through him, tingly and so very real.

Letting out another bark of laughter, he reaches to touch the silver animal, sighing softly when it reaches back, and it isn’t long until they’re curled together, with the massive beast wrapping itself protectively around him. The wolf releases a series of happy whines and Credence wholeheartedly shares the sentiment, thrilled to have company as he watches the large fluffy tail smack against nothing. 

Intelligent eyes gaze up at him, almost pleading, and from their depths brings the same burning recognition as before. He knows that stare intimately, as it’s watched him fondly for centuries now, but everything has become so muddled that he struggles to piece memories together.

Warm brown eyes creased with affection, gazing at him as if he were the most precious thing in the universe. Eyes glossy with pleasure, speaking of unconditional love without uttering a single word. A strangers eyes that he’s known for eternities.

His new friend yips excitedly as if to say ‘You’re so close, keep going!’ and nudges at him with its nose.

Credence continues their intense staring contest while he combs through the fuzzy contents of his mind, recalling the wolf’s birth, bursting forth to relay a message as it sprinted around a corner in a world more solid than this. Images of blipping in and out of existence, of objects levitating, proud smiles and reverent touches; of passionate worship.

He’s retrieving the vision of golden ink on smooth skin when the wolf suddenly lifts its head, cocking it sideways with a soft whine. Credence follows the direction of its gaze just as a voice breaches the encompassing darkness to whisper his name.

This time he feels stronger, more grounded than when the thread last drifted down, and with the urgent press of a snout to encourage him, he allows himself to gravitate towards it. The wolf keeps pace with him, moving silent as an apparition as they journey forward, head low and warm luminescent body brushing against him in a manner that he finds soothing; guiding him closer with intention.

As they draw near the voice steadily increases in volume, and to his surprise the thin thread sways gently in front of him instead of leagues above. Had the string simply dipped lower or had he risen enough to make contact with it? These questions are brushed to the side as a trickle of words flow through the black abyss to enchant him.

‘—eeling. I hope—‘

Credence cautiously drifts forward as the thread twists slowly, like the playful billow of smoke, afraid that one wrong move might cast it into the wind. His wolf friend matches him step for step and releases a drawn out whine, jerking its head from the noise to stare at him imploringly.

‘—this. We’re ke—“ 

Sound swiftly floods his senses as he reaches out to grip the thread, so much in fact that it completely derails him and he drops the string as if burned. His silvery companion howls before circling him with a fierce energy; a firm nudge here, a sharp yip there, little actions to herd Credence back to the auditory connection. Bracing himself for the raucous beyond, and batting the impatient wolf away when it nips at him, he extends his mind to grasp the link once more, riding out the violent assault of noise.

All at once he hears a cacophony of different sounds; rhythmic beeping, rustling fabric, a distant clatter, muffled conversation, the muted tap of footsteps, and above it all, a soft voice speaking quietly by his ear. To him.

“—robably can’t hear me, but I know you’re there, and you’re so strong Credence. You’re a strong young man with the heart of a Hungarian Horntail, and I know you’ll come back to us. We miss you so much, darling. Please come home.”

Percy. 

Everything comes rushing back to him so fast it makes him spin. Memories piece back together to offer him names and experiences, and most breathtaking of all, the beautiful visage of his Percy.

The man’s low cadence washes over him in pleasant waves, soothing the dull ache of loneliness in his chest that’s rested there for so long, and although he lacks vision to see his soulmate’s face, he can easily imagine the crease between his brow and wants desperately to smooth it away. Percy continues to talk, telling him that Modesty visited earlier for a while before the Goldstein sisters took her out to lunch, and Credence holds onto the string tightly as he frantically searches for the one that might bring him complete awareness.

“Healer Estefan says that you’re in fine health, much better than when you first came in, aside from essentially being Sleeping Beauty,” a warm chuckle rumbles close and he longs to turn his head and chase the melodic sound to its source. 

Blindly groping around in his mind while keeping a firm grip on his one connection to wakefulness, Credence abruptly brushes against something that causes him to jolt, a shock that briefly engaged his senses before they slipped back into dormancy. Frustrated, he stares at the wolf which has been anxiously pacing back and forth, begging it to give him the answer he’s seeking. It huffs softly and nudges him, a silent push for him to keep trying. 

It suddenly occurs to Credence that perhaps he’s going about this the wrong way, fumbling for individual connections when he should be trying to find the masterlink. It’s not much to go with, and he’s loathe to give up his link to Percy, but if he ever wants to leave the walls of his mind he’ll have to try.

With his soulmate’s voice lingering like the sweetest aftertaste, Credence reluctantly releases the thread and is once again engulfed in total silence. He works to calm himself lest he begin to panic, using the wolf’s bright presence at his side to ground him, before turning inwards to the deepest parts he had once feared to venture into. In the farthest trenches of his mind he sits with forced patience, allowing the eerie quiet to permeate his senses as he searches.

He strengthens his focus by sheer will, directing all of his attention to the act of rousing himself from this vegetative slumber; Sleeping Beauty, Percy had said. The thought fills him with joy and provides the fuel he needs to carry on in his task. Carefully brushing the cheesy name aside, Credence digs deep, plowing through both short and long-term memories, past fears and desires, instincts and morals; diving down until sensation pulses strangely around him.

It barely takes a light tap to this spot before he’s spinning, sucked into a vortex that quickly blots him out of existence. One moment he’s scratching about in the recesses of his mind looking for an exit, and the next he’s stumbling like a newborn fawn back into his body, each of his five senses slowly coming back online. His sense of hearing returns first, paving the way for smell, and touch.

“—the worst case of Spattergroit I have ever seen. You would not believe the size of these purple pustules. MACUSA was shut down for an entire month and everybody in the building had to be quarantined; it was a real mess.”

“That is truly disgusting...” His voice comes out as a croak, roughened from lack of use.

A sharp intake of breath prompts Credence to attempt cracking his eyes open, only to screw them tightly shut when the light burns his tender retinas.

“Credence?” Percy gasps, and the amount of hope lacing his voice creates a tight swell to form in his parched throat, “Credence, a-are you awake?” 

There’s a warm hand suddenly grasping his arm and it trembles heavily against his skin.

“I don’t know, maybe you should try kissing me like in that Sleeping Beauty story.”

Percy’s choked laughter is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, for behind its palpable relief lies an overwhelming love that threatens to undo him. He can hear it mixing with sobs as it stutters from the man’s chest, and with as much strength as he can muster, Credence reaches out to touch his hand and tries once more to open his eyes.

The latter endeavor proves fruitless, as he’s only greeted with discomfort, and he stops trying entirely when soft, shaky kisses pepper his face.

“Oh no, baby—don’t try to open your eyes just yet,” his soulmate speaks quickly, smashing his words together in his rush to get them out.

“H-hold on a second—“ There’s a rustle of movement followed by the sound of something whipping through the air, a whoosh, and before he knows it those warm lips are pressing firmly to his cheek, his forehead, and anywhere else they can reach.

“Oh thank Merlin,” Percy cries, carding his fingers with swift urgency through Credence’s hair, “You came back to me. You—“ heavy sobs wreak havoc on the man beside him, his body jerking with them as he rests his head on the youth’s chest.

Lifting a weak hand, he mimics his soulmate’s previous motions, gently combing the long silky tresses at the others scalp.

“I was so scared,” Percy’s voice comes out so tiny and vulnerable that it’s now Credence’s turn to cry. They hold each other as close as the hospital bed will allow and share in solace, voicing fears, pains and relief until they’re left scraped raw and open.

“Me too,” he says once he’s able to speak again.

There’s a burst of noise at the far end of the room, and Credence’s suspects that it’s the doctor to see him now that he’s awake. He ignores all in favor of mapping Percy’s wet cheeks with his fingers.

“Healer Estefan said you would find your way back.” A soft sniffle grips his heart and he snubs sympathetically.

“I had a little help.”

*


End file.
